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IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 


BY   STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 


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A   DAUGHTER   OF  THE  GIRONDE 


Page  326 


IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 


BY 

STANLEY  J.  \plYMAN 

AUTHOR   OF 
*A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  THE  CASTLE   INN,"  "  COUNT   HANNIBAL,"  ETC. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND   CO. 

91  AND  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 
1902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 


A II  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


PAET   I 

PAGK 

FLORE, 1 

CRILLON'S  STAKE, 51 

FOR  THE  CAUSE,        .        .        .  .        .86 

THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM, 131 

THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL,      ....  152 

HUNT  THE  OWLER, 177 

THE  Two  PAGES, 194 

PAET  II 

THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN 

EPISODE  OF  THE  FOWL  IN  THE  POT,  .  213 

EPISODE  OF  THE  BOXWOOD  FIRE,       .  .  238 

EPISODE  OF  THE  SNOWBALL,       .        .  .  266 

s 

PAET   III 
KING  TERROR 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE,         .        .  295 
IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW,       .        .        .  329 


PART  I 


FLORE 

(1643) 

IT  was  about  a  month  after  my  marriage— and 
third  clerk  to  the  most  noble  the  Bishop  of  Beau- 
vais,  and  even  admitted  on  occasions  to  write  in 
his  presence  and  prepare  his  minutes,  who  should 
marry  if  I  might  not? — it  was  about  a  month 
after  my  marriage,  I  say,  that  the  thunderbolt,  to 
which  I  have  referred,  fell  and  shattered  my  for- 
tunes. I  rose  one  morning— they  were  firing  guns 
for  the  victory  of  Rocroy,  I  remember,  so  that  it 
must  have  been  eight  weeks  or  more  after  the 
death  of  the  late  king,  and  the  glorious  rising  of 
the  Sun  of  France — and  who  as  happy  as  I?  A 
summer  morning,  Monsieur,  and  bright,  and  I  had 
all  I  wished.  The  river  as  it  sparkled  and  rippled 
against  the  piers  of  the  Pont  Neuf  far  below,  the 
wet  roofs  that  twinkled  under  our  garret  window, 
were  not  more  brilliant  than  my  lord  the  Bishop's 
fortunes :  and  as  is  the  squirrel  so  is  the  tail.  Of 
a  certainty,  I  was  happy  that  morning.  I  thought 
of  the  little  hut  under  the  pine  wood  at  Gabas  in 


2  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Beam,  where  I  was  born,  and  of  my  father  cob- 
bling by  the  unglazed  window,  his  night-cap  on  his 
bald  head,  and  his  face  plaistered  where  the  sherd 
had  slipped ;  and  I  puffed  out  my  cheeks  to  think 
that  I  had  climbed  so  high.  High?  How  high 
might  not  a  man  climb,  who  had  married  the 
daughter  of  the  Queen's  under-porter,  and  had 
sometimes  the  ear  of  my  lord,  the  Queen's  minis- 
ter— my  lord  of  Beauvais  in  whom  all  men  saw 
the  coming  master  of  France!  my  lord  whose 
stately  presence  beamed  on  a  world  still  chilled  bv 
the  dead  hand  of  Richelieu ! 

But  that  morning,  that  very  morning,  I  was  to 
learn  that  who  climbs  may  fall.  I  went  below  at 
the  usual  hour;  at  the  usual  hour  Monseigneur 
left,  attended,  for  the  Council;  presently  all  the 
house  was  in  an  uproar.  My  lord  had  returned, 
and  called  for  Prosper.  I  fancied  even  then  that 
I  caught  something  ominous  in  the  sound  of  my 
name  as  it  passed  from  lip  to  lip ;  and  nervously 
I  made  all  haste  to  the  chamber.  But  fast  as  I 
went  I  did  not  go  fast  enough ;  one  thrust  me  on 
this  side,  another  on  that.  The  steward  cursed  me 
as  he  handed  me  on  to  the  head-clerk,  who  stormed 
at  me ;  while  the  secretary  waited  for  me  at  the 
door,  and,  seizing  me  by  the  neck,  ran  me  into 
the  room.  "  In,  rascal,  in ! "  he  growled  in  my  ear, 
"and  I  hope  your  skin  may  pay  for  it!" 

Naturally  by  this  time  I  was  quaking :  and  Mon- 
seigneur's  looks  finished  me.  He  stood  in  the  mid- 


FLORE  3 

die  of  the  chamber,  his  plump  handsome  face  pale 
and  sullen.  And  as  he  scowled  at  me, " Yes!"  he 
said  curtly,  "  that  is  the  fellow.  What  does  he  say?" 

"  Speak  !"  the  head-clerk  cried,  seizing  me  by  the 
ear  and  twisting  it  until  I  fell  on  my  knees.  "Imbe- 
cile !  But  it  is  likely  enough  he  did  it  on  purpose." 

"Ay,  and  was  bribed!"  said  the  secretary. 

"  He  should  be  hung  up,"  the  steward  cried,  truc- 
ulently, "before  he  does  further  mischief!  And  if 
my  lord  will  give  the  word " 

"Silence!"  the  Bishop  said,  with  a  dark  glance 
at  me.  "What  does  he  plead?" 

The  head-clerk  twisted  my  ear  until  I  screamed. 
"Ingrate!"  he  cried.  "Do  you  hear  his  Grace 
speak  to  you?  Answer  him  aloud!" 

"My  lord,"  I  cried  piteously,  "I  do  not  know 
of  what  I  am  accused.  And  besides,  I  have  done 
nothing !  Nothing ! " 

"Nothing!"  half  a  dozen  echoed.  "Nothing!" 
the  head-clerk  added  brutally.  "  Nothing,  and  you 
add  a  cipher  to  the  census  of  Paris !  Nothing, 
and  your  lying  pen  led  my  lord  to  state  the  pop- 
ulation to  be  five  millions  instead  of  five  hundred 
thousand !  Nothing,  and  you  sent  his  Grace's 
Highness  to  the  Council  to  be  corrected  by  low 
clerks  and  people,  and  made  a  laughing-stock  for 
the  Cardinal,  and " 

"Silence!"  said  the  Bishop,  fiercely.  "Enough! 
Take  him  away,  and " 

"  Hang  him ! "  cried  the  steward. 


4  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"  No,  fool,  but  have  him  to  the  courtyard,  and 
let  the  grooms  flog  him  through  the  gates.  And 
have  a  care  you,"  he  continued,  addressing  me, 
"that  I  do  not  see  your  face  again  or  it  will  be 
worse  for  you ! " 

I  flung  myself  down  and  would  have  appealed 
against  the  sentence,  but  the  Bishop,  who  had 
suffered  at  the  Council  and  whose  ears  still 
burned,  was  pitiless.  Before  I  could  utter  three 
words  a  dozen  officious  hands  plucked  me  up  and 
thrust  me  to  the  door.  Outside  worse  things 
awaited  me.  A  shower  of  kicks  and  cuffs  and 
blows  fell  upon  me ;  vainly  struggling  and  shriek- 
ing, and  seeking  still  to  gain  his  lordship's  ear,  I 
was  hustled  along  the  passage  to  the  courtyard, 
and  there  dragged  amid  jeers  and  laughter  to  the 
fountain,  and  brutally  flung  in.  When  I  scram- 
bled out,  they  thrust  me  back  again  and  again : 
until,  almost  dead  with  cold  and  rage,  I  was  at 
last  permitted  to  escape,  only  to  be  hunted  round 
the  yard  with  stirrup-leathers  that  cut  like  knives, 
and  drew  a  scream  at  every  stroke.  I  doubled 
like  a  hare;  more  than  once  I  knocked  half  a 
dozen  down;  but  I  was  fast  growing  exhausted, 
when  some  one  more  prudent  or  less  cruel  than 
his  fellows,  opened  the  gates  before  me,  and  I 
darted  into  the  street. 

I  was  sobbing  with  rage  and  pain,  dripping,  rag- 
ged, and  barefoot;  for  some  saving  rogue  had 
prudently  drawn  off  my  shoes  in  the  scuffle.  It 


FLORE  5 

was  a  wonder  that  I  was  not  fallen  upon  and 
chased  through  the  streets.  Fortunately  in  the 
street  opposite  my  lord's  gates  opened  the  mouth 
of  a  little  alley.  I  plunged  into  it,  and  in  the  first 
dark  corner  dropped  exhausted  and  lay  sobbing 
and  weeping  on  a  heap  of  refuse.  I  who  had  risen 
so  happily  a  few  hours  before !  I  who  had  climbed 
so  high !  I  who  had  a  wife  new-married  in  my 
garret  at  home! 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  lay  there,  now  curs- 
ing the  jealousy  of  the  clerks,  who  would  have 
flayed  me  to  save  themselves,  and  now  the  cruelty 
of  the  grooms  who  thought  it  fine  sport  to  whip 
a  scholar.  But  the  first  tempest  of  passion  had 
spent  itself,  when  a  woman— not  the  first  whom  my 
plight  had  attracted,  but  the  others  had  merely 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  passed  on— paused 
before  me.  "What  a  white  skin  !"  she  cried,  mak- 
ing great  eyes  at  me ;  and  they  had  cut  my  clothes 
so  that  I  was  half  bare  to  her.  And  then,  "You 
are  not  a  street-prowler.  How  come  you  here,  my 
lad,  in  that  guise?" 

I  was  silent,  and  pretended  to  be  sullen,  being 
ashamed  to  meet  her  gaze. 

She  stood  a  moment  staring  at  me  curiously. 
Then,  "Better  go  home,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  sedately,  "or  those  who  have  robbed  you 
may  end  by  worse.  I  doubt  not  this  is  what 
comes  of  raking  and  night-work.  Go  home,  my 
lad,"  she  repeated,  and  went  on  her  way. 


6  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Home!  The  word  raised  new  thoughts,  new 
hopes,  new  passions.  I  scrambled  to  my  feet.  I 
had  a  home— the  Bishop  might  deprive  me  of  it : 
but  I  had  also  a  wife,  from  whom  God  only  could 
separate  me.  I  felt  a  sudden  fire  run  through  me 
at  the  thought  of  her,  and  of  all  I  had  suffered 
since  I  left  her  arms:  and  with  new  boldness  I 
turned,  and  sore  and  aching  as  I  was,  I  stumbled 
back  to  the  place  of  my  shame. 

The  steward  and  two  or  three  of  his  underlings 
were  standing  in  the  gateway,  and  saw  me  ap- 
proach; and  began  to  jeer.  The  high  grey  front 
of  Monseigneur's  hotel,  three  sides  of  a  square, 
towered  up  behind  them ;  the  steward  in  the  open- 
ing sprawled  his  feet  apart  and  set  his  hands  to 
his  stout  sides,  and  jeered  at  me.  "Ha!  ha! 
Here  is  the  lame  leper  from  the  Cour  des  Mira- 
cles ! "  he  cried.  "  Have  a  care  or  he  will  give  you 
the  itch!" 

"Good  sir,  the  swill-tub  is  open,"  cried  another, 
mocking  me.  "Help  yourself!" 

A  third  spat  at  me  and  bade  mo  begone  for  a 
pig.  The  passers— there  were  always  a  knot  of 
gazers  opposite  my  lord  of  Beauvais'  palace 
in  those  days,  when  we  had  the  Queen's  ear 
and  bade  fair  to  succeed  Kichelieu— stayed  to 
stare. 

"I  want  my  goods,"  I  said,  trembling. 

"  Your  goods ! "  the  steward  answered,  swelling 
out  his  brawny  chest,  and  smiling  at  me  over  it. 


FLORE  7 

"  Your  goods,  indeed  !  Begone,  and  be  thankful 
you  have  escaped  so  well." 

"Give  me  my  things — from  my  room,"  I  said 
stubbornly;  and  I  tried  to  enter.  "They  are  my 
own!" 

He  moved  sideways  so  as  to  block  the  passage. 
"Your  goods?  They  are  Monseigneur's,"  he  said. 

"My  wife,  then!" 

He  winked,  the  great  beast.  "Your  wife?"  he 
said.  "Well,  true;  she  is  not  Monseigneur's.  But 
she  will  do  for  me."  And  with  a  coarse  laugh  he 
winked  again  at  the  crowd. 

At  that  the  pent-up  rage  which  I  had  so  long 
stemmed  broke  out.  He  stood  a  head  taller  than 
I,  and  a  foot  wider ;  but  with  a  scream  I  sprang  at 
his  throat,  and  by  the  very  surprise  of  the  at- 
tack and  his  unwieldiness,  I  got  him  down  and 
beat  his  face  with  my  fists.  His  fellows,  as  soon 
as  they  recovered  from  their  astonishment,  tore 
me  off,  showing  me  no  mercy.  But  by  that  time 
I  had  so  marked  him  that  the  blood  poured  down 
his  fat  cheeks.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  panting 
and  furious,  his  oaths  tripping  over  one  another. 

"To  the  Chatelet  with  him!"  he  cried,  spitting 
out  a  tooth  and  staring  at  me  through  the  mud 
on  his  face.  "He  shall  swing  for  this!  He  tried 
to  break  in.  I  call  you  to  witness  he  tried  to 
break  in ! " 

"  Ay,  to  the  Chatelet !  To  the  Chatelet ! "  cried 
the  crowd,  siding  with  the  stronger  party.  He 


8  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

was  my  lord  of  Beauvais'  steward;  I  was  a  gut- 
ter-snipe  and  dangerous.  A  dozen  hands  held 
me  tightly ;  yet  not  so  tightly,  but  that,  a  coach 
passing  at  that  moment  and  driving  us  all  to  the 
wall,  I  managed  by  a  jerk — I  was  desperate  by 
this  time,  and  savage  as  a  wild-cat— to  snatch 
myself  loose.  In  a  second  I  was  speeding  down 
the  Rue  Bons  Enfants  with  the  hue  and  cry  be- 
hind me. 

I  have  said,  I  was  desperate.  In  an  hour  the 
world  was  changed  for  me.  In  an  hour  I  had 
broken  with  every  tradition  of  safe  and  modest 
and  clerkly  life;  and  from  a  sleek  scribe  was  be- 
come a  ragged  outlaw  flying  through  the  streets. 
I  saw  the  gallows,  I  felt  the  lash  sink  like  molten 
lead  into  the  quivering  back,  still  bleeding  from 
the  stirrup-leathers :  I  forgot  all  but  the  danger. 
I  lived  only  in  my  feet,  and  with  them  made  su- 
perhuman efforts.  Fortunately  the  light  was  fail- 
ing, and  in  the  dusk  I  distanced  the  pack  by  a 
dozen  yards.  I  passed  the  corner  of  the  Palais 
Royal  so  swiftly  that  the  Queen's  Guards,  though 
they  ran  out  at  the  alarm,  were  too  late  to  inter- 
cept me.  Thence  I  turned  instinctively  to  the  left, 
and  with  the  cry  of  pursuit  in  my  ears  strained 
towards  the  old  bridge,  intending  to  cross  to  the 
Cito,  where  I  knew  all  the  lanes  and  byways.  But 
the  bridge  was  alarmed,  the  Chatelet  seemed  to 
yawn  for  me — they  were  just  lighting  the  brazier 
in  front  of  the  gloomy  pile— and  doubling  back, 


FLORE  9 

while  the  air  roared  with  shouts  of  warning  and 
cries  of  "Stop  thief!  Stop  thief!"—!  evaded  my 
pursuers,  and  sped  up  the  narrow  Rue  Trousse- 
vache,  with  the  hue  and  cry  hard  on  my  heels. 

I  had  no  plan  now,  no  aim;  only  terror  added 
wings  to  my  feet.  The  end  of  that  street  gained 
I  darted  blindly  down  another,  and  yet  another ; 
with  straining  chest,  and  legs  that  began  to  fail, 
and  always  in  my  ears  the  yells  that  rose  round 
me  as  fresh  pursuers  joined  in  the  chase.  Still  I 
kept  ahead,  I  was  even  gaining ;  with  night  thick- 
ening, I  might  hope  to  escape,  if  I  could  baffle 
those  who  from  time  to  time — but  in  a  half-hearted 
way,  not  knowing  if  I  were  armed— made  an  at- 
tempt to  stop  me  or  trip  me  up. 

Suddenly  turning  a  corner— I  had  gained  a  quiet 
part  where  blind  walls  lined  an  alley — I  discovered 
a  man  running  before  me.  At  the  same  instant 
the  posse  in  pursuit  quickened  their  pace  in  a  last 
effort;  I,  in  answer,  put  forth  my  last  strength, 
and  in  a  dozen  paces  I  came  up  with  the  man. 
He  turned  to  me,  our  eyes  met  as  we  ran  abreast ; 
desperate  myself,  I  read  equal  terror  in  his  look, 
and  before  I  could  think  what  it  might  mean,  he 
bent  himself  sideways  as  he  ran,  and  with  a  singu- 
lar movement  flung  a  parcel  he  carried  into  my 
arms.  Then  wheeling  abruptly  he  plunged  into  a 
side-lane  on  his  left. 

It  was  done  in  a  moment.  Instinctively  I  caught 
the  burden :  but  the  impetus  with  which  he  had 


10  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

passed  it  to  me,  sent  me  reeling  to  the  right,  and 
the  lane  being  narrow,  I  fell  against  the  wall  be- 
fore I  could  steady  myself.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
that  which  should  have  destroyed  me,  was  my 
salvation;  I  struck  the  wall  where  a  door  broke 
it,  the  door,  lightly  latched,  flew  open  under  the 
impact,  I  fell  inwards.  I  alighted,  in  darkness,  on 
my  hands  and  knees,  heard  the  stifled  yelp  of  a 
dog,  and  in  a  second,  though  I  could  see  nothing, 
I  was  up  and  had  the  door  closed  behind  me. 

Then  I  listened.  Panting  and  breathless,  I  heard 
the  hunt  go  raving  through  the  lane,  and  the 
noise  die  in  the  distance ;  until  only  the  beating  of 
my  heart  broke  the  close  silence  of  the  darkness 
in  which  I  stood.  When  this  had  lasted  a  minute 
or  two,  I  began  to  peer  and  wonder  where  I  was ; 
and  remembering  the  dog  I  had  heard,  I  moved 
stealthily  to  find  the  latch,  and  escape.  As  I  did 
so,  the  bundle,  to  which  through  all  I  had  clung 
— instinctively,  for  I  had  not  thought  of  it — moved 
in  my  arms. 

I  almost  dropped  it;  then  I  held  it  from  me 
with  a  swift  movement  of  repulsion.  It  stirred 
again,  it  was  warm.  In  a  moment  the  truth  flashed 
upon  me.  It  was  a  child ! 

Burning  hot  as  I  had  been  before,  the  sweat  rose 
on  me  at  the  thought.  For  I  saw  again  the  man's 
face  of  terror,  and  I  guessed  that  he  had  stolen 
the  child,  and  I  feared  the  worst.  He  had  mis- 
taken the  rabble  hooting  at  my  heels  for  the 


FLORE  11 

avengers  of  blood,  and  had  been  only  too  thank- 
ful to  rid  himself  of  the  damning  fact,  and  es- 
cape. 

And  now  I  had  it,  and  had  as  much,  or  more, 
to  fear.  For  an  instant  the  impulse  to  lay  the 
parcel  down,  and  glide  out,  and  so  be  clear  of  it, 
was  strong  upon  me.  And  that  I  think  is  what 
the  ordinary  clerk,  being  no  hero,  nor  bred  like  a 
soldier  to  risk  his  life,  would  have  done.  But  for 
one  thing,  I  was  desperate.  I  knew  not,  after 
this,  whither  to  go  or  where  to  save  myself.  For 
another  thing  my  clerk's  wits  were  already  busy, 
showing  me  how  with  luck  I  might  use  the  occa- 
sion and  avoid  the  risk;  how  with  luck  I  might 
discover  the  parents  and  without  suffering  for  the 
theft,  restore  the  child.  Beyond  that  I  saw  an 
opening  vista  of  pardon,  employment  and  reward. 

Suddenly,  the  dog  whined  again,  close  to  me; 
and  that  decided  me.  I  had  found  the  latch  by 
this  time,  and  warily  I  drew  the  door  open.  In 
a  moment  I  was  in  the  lane,  looking  up  and 
down.  I  saw  nothing  to  alarm  me ;  darkness  had 
completely  fallen,  no  one  was  moving,  the  neigh- 
bourhood seemed  to  be  of  the  quietest.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  take  the  bold  course :  to  return 
at  all  hazards  to  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  seek  my 
father-in-law  at  the  gates  of  the  Palais  Royal — 
where  he  had  the  night  turn — and  throw  the  child 
and  myself  on  his  protection. 

Without  doubt  it  was  the  wisest  course  I  could 


12  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

adopt.  In  those  days  the  streets  of  Paris,  even 
in  the  district  of  the  Louvre  and  Palais  Royal, 
were  ill-lighted;  a  network  of  lanes  and  dark 
courts  encroached  on  the  most  fashionable  parts, 
and  favoured  secret  access  to  them,  and  I  foresaw 
no  great  difficulty,  short  of  the  moment  when  I 
must  appear  in  the  lighted  lodge  and  exhibit  my 
rags.  But  my  evil  star  was  still  above  the  hori- 
zon. I  had  scarcely  reached  the  end  of  the  lane; 
I  was  still  hesitating  there,  uncertain  which  way 
to  turn  for  the  shortest  course,  when  a  babel  of 
voices  broke  on  my  ear,  lights  swept  round  a  dis- 
tant corner,  and  I  found  myself  threatened  by  a 
new  danger.  I  did  not  wait  to  consider.  These 
people,  with  their  torches  and  weapons,  might 
have  naught  to  do  with  me.  But  my  nerves  were 
shaken,  the  streets  of  Paris  were  full  of  terrors, 
every  corner  had  a  gallows  for  me — and  I  turned 
and,  fleeing  back  the  way  I  had  come,  I  made  a 
hurried  effort  to  find  the  house  which  had  shel- 
tered me  before.  Failing,  in  one  or  two  trials, 
and  seeing  that  the  lights  were  steadily  coming 
on  that  way,  and  that  in  a  moment  I  must  be 
discovered,  I  sprang  across  the  way,  and  dived 
into  the  side-lane  by  which  the  child-stealer  had 
vanished. 

I  had  not  taken  ten  steps  before  some  object, 
unseen  in  the  darkness,  tripped  me  up,  and  I  fell 
headlong  on  the  stones.  In  the  fall  my  burden 
rolled  from  my  arms;  instantly  it  was  snatched 


FLORE  13 

up  by  a  dark  figure,  which  rose  as  by  magic  be- 
side me,  and  was  gone  into  the  gloom  almost  as 
quickly.  I  got  up  gasping  and  limping,  and  flung 
a  curse  after  the  man;  but  the  lights  already 
shone  on  the  mouth  of  the  lane  in  which  I  stood, 
and  I  had  no  time  to  lose  if  I  would  not  be  de- 
tected. I  set  off  running  down  the  passage,  turned 
to  the  left  at  the  end,  and  along  a  second  lane, 
thence  passed  into  another  and  a  wider  road; 
nor  did  I  stop  until  I  had  left  all  signs  and 
sounds  of  pursuit  far  behind  me. 

The  place  in  which  I  came  to  a  stand  at  last- 
too  weak  to  run  any  farther — was  a  piece  of  waste 
land,  in  the  northern  suburbs  of  the  city.  High 
up  on  the  left  I  could  discern  a  light  or  two, 
piercing  the  gloom  of  the  sky;  and  I  knew  they 
shone  from  the  wind-mills  of  Montmartre.  In  every 
other  direction  lay  darkness ;  desolation  swept  by 
the  night  wind ;  silence  broken  only  by  the  dismal 
howling  of  far-off  watch-dogs.  I  might  have  been 
ten  miles  from  Paris :  even  as  I  was  a  thousand 
miles  from  the  man  who  had  risen  so  happily  that 
morning. 

For  very  misery  I  sobbed  aloud.  I  did  not  know 
exactly  where  I  was ;  nor  had  I  known,  had  I  the 
strength  to  return.  Excitement  had  carried  me  far, 
but  suddenly  I  felt  the  weakness  of  exhaustion,  and 
sick  and  aching  I  craved  only  a  hole  in  which  to 
lie  down  and  die.  Fortunately  at  this  moment  I 
met  the  wind,  and  caught  the  scent  of  new-mown 


14  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

hay:  stumbling  forward  a  few  steps  with  such 
strength  as  remained,  I  made  out  a  low  building 
looming  through  the  night.  I  staggered  to  it;  I 
discovered  that  it  was  a  shed ;  and  entering  with 
my  hands  extended,  I  felt  the  hay  under  my  feet. 
With  a  sob  of  thankfulness  I  took  two  steps  for- 
ward and  sank  down;  but  instead  of  the  soft 
couch  I  expected,  I  fell  on  the  angular  body  of  a 
man,  who  with  a  savage  curse  rose  and  flung 
me  off. 

This  at  another  time  would  have  scared  me  to 
death ;  but  I  was  so  far  gone  in  wretchedness  that 
I  felt  no  fear  and  little  surprise.  I  rolled  away 
without  a  word,  and  curling  myself  up  at  a  dis- 
tance of  a  few  feet  from  my  fellow-lodger,  fell  in 
a  minute  fast  asleep. 

When  I  awoke,  daylight,  though  the  sun  was  not 
up,  was  beginning  to  creep  into  the  shed.  I  turned, 
every  bone  in  my  body  ached :  the  weals  of  the 
stirrup-leathers  smarted  and  burned.  I  remem- 
bered yesterday's  doings,  and  groaned.  Pres- 
ently the  hay  beside  me  rustled,  and  over  the 
shoulder  of  the  mass  against  which  I  lay  I  made 
out  the  face  of  a  man,  peering  curiously  at  me. 
I  had  not  yet  broken  with  every  habit  of  suspicion, 
nor  could  in  a  moment  recollect  that  I  had  noth- 
ing but  rags  to  lose ;  and  I  gazed  back  spellbound. 
In  silence  which  neither  broke  by  so  much  as  a 
movement  we  waited  gazing  into  one  another's 
eyes ;  while  the  light  in  the  low-roofed  hovel  grew 


FLORE  15 

and  grew,  and  minute  by  minute  brought  out 
more  clearly  the  other's  features. 

At  length  I  knew  him,  and  almost  at  the  same 
moment  he  recognized  me;  uttering  an  oath  of 
rage,  he  rose  up  as  if  to  spring  at  my  throat. 
But  either  because  I  did  not  recoil— being  too 
deep-set  in  the  hay  to  move — or  for  some  other 
reason,  he  only  shook  his  claw-like  fingers  at  me, 
and  held  off.  "Where  is  it,  you  dog?"  he  cried, 
finding  his  voice  with  an  effort.  "  Speak,  or  I  will 
have  your  throat  slit.  Speak;  do  you  hear? 
What  have  you  done  with  it  ?  " 

He  was  the  man  who  had  passed  the  child  to 
me!  I  watched  him  needfully,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation  I  told  him  that  it  had  been 
taken  from  me,  and  I  told  him  when  and  where. 

"And  you  don't  know  the  man  who  took  it?" 
he  screamed. 

"Not  from  Adam,"  I  said.    "It  was  dark." 

In  his  disappointment  and  rage,  at  receiving  the 
answer,  I  thought  again  that  he  would  fall  upon 
me:  but  he  only  choked  and  swore,  and  then 
stood  scowling,  the  picture  of  despair.  Until, 
some  new  thought  pricking  him,  he  threw  up  his 
arms  and  cried  out  afresh.  "  Oh,  mon  dieu,  what 
a  fool  I  was!"  he  moaned.  "What  a  craven  I 
was !  I  had  a  fortune  in  my  hands,  and,  fool  that 
I  was,  I  threw  it  away!" 

I  thought  bitterly  of  my  own  case — I  was  not 
much  afraid  of  him  now,  for  I  began  to  think  that 


16  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

I  understood  him.  "So  had  I,  yesterday  morn- 
ing," I  said,  "a  fortune.  You  are  in  no  worse 
case  than  others." 

"  Yesterday  morning ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  No,  last 
night.  Then,  if  you  like,  you  had.  But  yesterday 
morning?  Fortune  and  you,  scarecrow?  Go  hang 
yourself." 

He  looked  gloomily  at  me  for  a  moment  with 
his  arms  crossed  on  his  chest,  and  his  face  darkly 
set.  Then  "Who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

I  told  him.  When  he  learned  that  the  rabble 
that  had  alarmed  him,  had  in  fact  been  pursuing 
me— so  that  his  fright  had  been  groundless— he 
broke  into  fresh  execrations  :  and  these  so  violent 
that  I  began  to  feel  a  sort  of  contempt  for  him, 
and  even  plucked  up  spirit  to  tell  him  that  look 
as  disdainfully  as  he  might  at  me,  he  seemed  to 
be  in  no  better  case. 

He  looked  at  me  askance  at  that.  "Ay,  as  it 
turns  out,"  he  said  grimly.  "In  worse  case,  if 
you  please.  But  see  the  difference,  idiot.  You  are 
a  poor  fool  beaten  from  pillar  to  post;  at  all 
men's  mercy,  and  naught  to  get  by  it;  while  I 
played  for  a  great  stake.  I  have  lost,  it  is  true ! 
I  have  lost!"  he  continued,  his  voice  rising  al- 
most to  a  yell,  "and  we  are  both  in  the  gutter. 
But  if  I  had  won — if  I  had  won,  man " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence  but  flung  him- 
self down  on  his  face  in  the  hay,  and  bit  and  tore 
it  in  his  passion.  A  moment  I  viewed  him  with 


FLORE  17 

contempt,  and  thought  him  a  poor  creature  for  a 
villain.  Then  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  curling  over 
as  he  grovelled  and  writhed,  disclosed  something 
that  turned  my  thoughts  into  another  channel. 
Crushed  under  his  leather  girdle  was  a  little  cape, 
or  a  garment  of  that  kind,  of  velvet  so  lustrous 
that  it  shone  in  the  dark  place  where  I  saw  it,  as 
the  eyes  shine  in  a  toad.  Nor  it  only :  before  he 
rolled  over  and  hid  it  again,  I  espied  embroidered 
on  one  corner  of  the  velvet  a  stiff  gold  crown ! 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  repressed  a  cry. 
Cold,  damp,  aching,  I  felt  the  heat  run  through 
me  like  wine.  A  crown !  A  little  purple  cape ! 
And  taken  beyond  doubt  from  the  infant  he  had 
stolen  last  night !  Then  last  night — last  night  I 
had  carried  the  King !  I  had  carried  the  King  of 
France  in  my  arms. 

I  no  longer  found  it  hard  to  understand  the 
man's  terror  of  yesterday ;  or  his  grief  and  despair 
of  this  morning.  He  had  indeed  played  for  a 
great  stake ;  he  had  risked  torture  and  the  wheel ; 
death  in  its  most  horrible  form.  And  that  for 
which  he  had  risked  so  much  he  had  lost !  — lost ! 

I  looked  at  him  with  new  eyes,  and  a  sort  of 
wonder :  and  had  scarcely  time  to  compose  my 
face,  when,  the  paroxysm  of  his  fury  spent,  he 
rose,  and  looking  at  me  askance,  to  see  how  I 
took  his  actions,  he  asked  me  sullenly  whither  I 
was  going. 

"To  Monseigneur's,"  I  said  cunningly:  had  I 
2 


18  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

answered,  "To  the  Palais  Royal,"  he  would  have 
suspected  me. 

"To  the  Bishop's?" 

"Where  else?" 

"To  be  beaten  again?"  he  sneered. 

I  said  nothing  to  that,  but  asked  him  whither 
he  was  going. 

"God  knows,"  he  said.    "God  knows!" 

But  when  I  went  out,  he  accompanied  me ;  and 
we  slunk  silently,  like  the  pair  of  night-birds  we 
were,  through  lanes  and  alleys  until  we  were  fairly 
in  town  again.  By  that  time  the  sun  was  up  and 
the  market  people  were  beginning  to  enter  the  city. 
Here  and  there  eyes  took  curious  note  of  my  dis- 
order :  and  thinking  of  the  company  I  was  in,  I 
trembled,  and  wondered  that  the  alarm  was  not 
abroad  and  the  bells  proclaiming  us  from  every 
tower.  I  was  more  than  content,  therefore,  when 
my  companion  at  the  back  of  the  Temple  halted 
before  a  small  door  in  a  blind  wall.  Over  against 
it  stood  another  small  door  in  the  opposite  wall. 

"Do  you  stay  here?"  I  said. 

He  swore  churlishly.  "What  is  that  to  you?" 
he  said,  looking  up  and  down.  "Go  your  way, 
idiot." 

I  was  glad  to  affect  a  like  ill-humour,  shrugged 
my  shoulders,  and  lounged  on  without  looking 
back.  But  my  brain  was  on  fire.  The  King !  The 
four-year-old  King !  What  was  I  to  do?  To  whom 
to  go  with  my  knowledge?  And  then— even  then, 


FLORE  19 

while  I  paused  hesitating,  I  heard  steps  running 
behind  me,  and  I  turned  to  find  him  at  my  elbow. 
His  face  was  pale,  but  his  eyes  burned  with  eager- 
ness, and  his  whole  demeanour  was  changed. 

"Stay!"  he  cried  panting;  and  then  seizing  me 
peremptorily  by  the  breast  of  my  shirt,  "the  man 
who  tripped  you  up,  fellow— you  did  not  see  him?" 

"It  was  dark,"  I  answered  curtly.  "I  told  you 
I  did  not  know  him  from  Adam." 

"But  had  he — "  he  gasped,  "you  heard  him  run 
away— was  he  lame?" 

I  could  not  repress  an  exclamation.  "Par  dieu!  " 
I  said.  "Yes,  I  had  forgotten  that.  I  think  he 
was.  I  remember  I  heard  his  foot  go  cluck — clack, 
cluck — clack  as  he  ran." 

His  face  became  burning  red,  and  he  staggered. 
If  ever  man  was  near  dying  from  blood  in  his 
head,  it  was  that  man  at  that  moment !  But  af- 
ter, a  while  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  got  the 
better  of  it,  nodded  to  me,  and  turned  away.  I 
marked,  however— for  I  stood  a  moment,  watching 
—that  he  did  not  go  back  to  the  door  at  which 
I  had  left  him  :  but  after  looking  round  once  and 
espying  me  standing,  he  took  a  lane  on  the  right 
and  disappeared. 

But  I  knew  or  thought  that  I  knew  all  now; 
and  the  moment  he  was  out  of  sight,  I  set  off  to- 
wards the  Palais  Royal  like  a  hound  let  loose, 
heeding  neither  those  against  whom  I  bumped  in 
the  straiter  ways,  nor  the  danger  I  ran  of  recog- 


20  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

nition,  nor  the  miserable  aspect  I  wore  in  my 
rags.  I  forgot  all,  save  my  news,  even  my  own 
wretchedness ;  and  never  halted  or  stayed  to  take 
breath  until  I  crept  panting  into  the  doorway  of 
the  lodge  at  the  Palais,  and  met  my  father-in-law's 
look  of  disgust  and  astonishment. 

He  was  just  off  the  night  turn,  and  met  me  on 
the  threshold.  I  saw  beyond  him  the  grinning 
faces  of  the  under-porters.  But  I  had  that 
to  tell  which  still  upheld  me.  I  threw  up  my 
hands. 

"I  know  where  they  are!"  I  cried  breathlessly. 
"I  can  take  you  to  them!" 

He  gazed  at  me,  dumb  for  the  moment  with  sur- 
prise and  rage;  and  doubtless  a  less  reputable 
son-in-law  than  I  appeared,  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  find  in  all  Paris.  Then  his  passion  found 
vent.  "Pig!"  he  cried.  "Jackal!  Gutter-bird! 
Begone !  I  have  heard  about  you  !  Begone !  or  I 
will  have  you  flayed!" 

"But  I  know  where  they  are!  I  know  where 
they  have  him ! "  I  protested. 

His  face  underwent  a  startling  change.  He 
stepped  forward  with  a  nimbleness  wonderful  in 
one  of  his  bulk,  and  he  caught  me  by  the  collar. 
"What,"  he  said,  "have  you  seen  the  dog?" 

"The  dog?"  I  cried.  "No,  but  I  have  seen  the 
King!  I  have  held  him  in  my  arms  !  I  know  where 
he  is." 

He  released  me  suddenly,  and  fell  back  a  pace, 


FLORE  21 

looking  at  me  so  oddly  that  I  paused.  "Say  it 
again,"  he  said  slowly.  "You  have  held  the " 

"The  King!  The  King!"  I  cried  impatiently. 
"In  these  arms.  Last  night !  I  know  where  they 
have  him,  or  at  least — where  the  robbers  are." 

His  double  chin  fell,  and  his  fat  face  lost  colour. 
"Poor  devil !"  he  said,  staring  at  me  like  one  fas- 
cinated. "They  have  took  his  senses  from  him." 

"But—"  I  cried,  advancing,  " are  you  not  going 
to  do  anything?" 

He  waved  me  off,  and  retreating  a  step,  crossed 
himself.  "Jacques!"  he  said,  speaking  to  one  of 
the  porters,  but  without  taking  his  eyes  off  me, 
"move  him  off!  Move  him  off;  do  you  hear, 
man?  He  is  not  safe!" 

"But  I  tell  you,"  I  cried  fiercely,  "they  have 
stolen  the  King !  They  have  stolen  his  Majesty, 
and  I— have  held  him  in  my  arms.  And  I 
know " 

"There,  there,  be  calm,"  he  answered.  "Be 
calm,  my  lad.  They  have  stolen  the  Queen's  dog, 
that  is  true.  But  have  it  your  own  way  if  you 
like,  only  go.  Go  from  here,  and  quickly,  or  it  will 
be  the  worse  for  you ;  for  here  comes  Monseigneur 
the  Bishop  to  wait  on  her  Majesty,  and  if  he  sees 
you,  you  will  suffer  worse  things.  There,  make 
way,  make  way  ! "  he  continued,  turning  from  me  to 
the  staring  crowd  that  had  assembled.  "  Way,  for 
Monseigneur  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  !  Make  way  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  the   Bishop   in   his   great   coach 


22  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

turned  heavily  out  of  the  Kue  St.  Honore,  and 
the  crowd  attending  him  eddied  about  the  Palace 
entrance.  I  was  hustled  and  swept  out  of  the  way, 
and  fortunately  escaping  notice,  found  myself  a 
few  minutes  later  crouching  in  a  lane  that  runs  be- 
side the  church  of  St.  Jacques.  I  was  wolfing  a 
crust  of  bread,  which  one  of  the  men  with  whom 
I  had  often  talked  in  the  lodge  had  thrust  into 
my  hand.  I  ate  it  with  tears :  in  all  Paris,  that 
day,  was  no  more  miserable  outcast.  What  had 
become  of  my  little  wife  I  knew  not ;  and  I  dared 
not  show  myself  at  the  Bishop's  to  ask.  My  fa- 
ther-in-law, I  feared,  was  hardened  against  me, 
and  at  the  best  thought  me  mad.  I  had  no  longer 
home  or  friend,  and— this  at  the  moment  cut  most 
sharply— the  gorgeous  hopes  in  which  I  had  in- 
dulged a  few  moments  before  were  as  last  year's 
snow!  The  King  was  not  lost! 

I  crouched  and  shivered.  In  St.  Antoine's,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  lane,  a  man  was  beating  a  drum 
preparatory  to  publishing  a  notice ;  and  presently 
his  voice  caught  my  attention  in  the  middle  of  my 
lamentations.  I  listened,  at  first  idly,  then  with 
my  mind.  "Oyez!  Oyez!"  he  cried.  "Whereas 
some  evil  person,  having  no  fear  of  God  or  of  the 
law  before  his  eyes,  has  impudently,  feloniously, 
and  treasonably  stolen  from  the  Palais  Royal,  a 
spaniel,  the  property  of  the  Queen-Regent's  most 
excellent  Majesty,  this  is  to  say,  that  any  one — 
rumble— rumble— rumble"— here  a  passing  coach 


FLORE  23 

drowned  some  sentences — after  which  I  caught — 
"five  hundred  crowns,  the  same  to  be  paid  by 
Monseigneur  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  President  of 
the  Council!" 

"And  glad  to  pay  it,"  snarled  a  voice,  quite 
close  to  me.  I  started  and  looked  up.  Two  men 
were  talking  at  a  grated  window  above  my  head. 
I  could  not  see  their  faces. 

"Yet  it  is  a  high  price  for  a  dog,"  the  other 
sneered. 

"  But  low  for  a  queen.  Yet  it  will  buy  her.  And 
this  is  Richelieu's  France!" 

"  Was ! "  the  other  said  pithily.  "  Well,  you  know 
the  proverb,  my  friend.  'A  living  dog  is  better 
than  a  dead  lion.'  ' 

"Ay,"  his  companion  rejoined,  "but  I  have  a 
fancy  that  that  dog's  name  is  spelt  neither  with 
an  F  for  Flore — which  was  the  whelp's  name,  was 
it  not?— nor  a  B  for  Beauvais ;  nor  a  C  for  Conde; 
but  with  an  M " 

"For  Mazarin!"  the  other  answered  sharply. 
"Yes,  if  he  find  the  dog.  But  Beauvais  is  in 
possession." 

"Rocroy,  a  hit  that  counted  for  Conde  shook 
him;  you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"Still  he  is  in  possession." 

"So  is  my  shoe  in  possession  of  my  foot,"  was 
the  keen  reply.  "And  see — I  take  it  off.  Beauvais 
is  tottering,  I  tell  you ;  tottering.  It  wants  but  a 
shove,  and  he  falls." 


24  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

I  heard  no  more,  for  they  moved  from  the  win- 
dow into  the  room;  but  they  left  me  a  different 
man.  It  was  not  so  much  the  hope  of  reward  as 
the  desire  for  vengeance  that  urged  me ;  my  clerk's 
wits  returned  once  more,  and  in  the  very  despe- 
ration of  my  affairs  gave  me  the  courage  I  some- 
times lacked.  I  recognized  that  I  had  not  to  do 
with  a  King,  but  a  dog ;  but  that  none  the  less 
that  way  lay  revenge.  And  I  rose  up  and  slunk 
again  into  the  main  street  and  passed  through 
the  crowd  and  up  the  Rue  St.  Martin  and  by  St. 
Merri,  a  dirty,  ragged,  barefoot  rascal  from  whom 
people  drew  their  skirts;  yes,  all  that,  and  the 
light  of  the  sun  on  it — all  that,  and  yet  vengeance 
itself  in  the  body— the  hand  that  should  yet  drag 
my  cruel  master's  fauteuil  from  under  him. 

Once  I  halted,  weighing  the  risks  and  whether 
I  should  take  my  knowledge  direct  to  the  Cardi- 
nal and  let  him  make  what  use  he  pleased  of  it. 
But  I  knew  nothing  definite,  and  hardening  my 
heart  to  do  the  work  myself,  I  went  on,  until  I 
found  again  the  alley  between  the  blind  walls 
where  I  had  left  the  dog-stealer.  It  was  noon. 
The  alley  was  empty,  the  neighbouring  lane  at 
the  back  of  the  Filles  Dieu  towards  St.  Martin's 
was  empty.  I  looked  this  way  and  that  and  slow- 
ly went  down  to  the  door  at  which  the  man  had 
halted  in  his  despair ;  but  to  which,  as  soon  as  he 
knew  that  the  game  was  not  lost,  he  had  been 
heedful  not  to  return  while  I  watched  him. 


FLORE  25 

There,  seeing  all  so  quiet,  with  the  green  of  a 
tree  showing  here  and  there  above  the  dead  wall, 
I  began  to  blench  and  wonder  how  I  was  to  take 
the  next  step.  And  for  half  an  hour,  I  dare  say, 
I  sneaked  to  and  fro,  now  in  sight  of  the  door 
and  now  with  my  back  to  it;  afraid  to  advance, 
and  ashamed  to  retreat.  At  length  I  came  once 
more  through  the  alley,  and,  seeing  how  quiet 
and  respectable  it  lay,  with  the  upper  part  of  a 
house  visible  at  intervals  above  the  wall,  I  took 
heart  of  grace  and  tried  the  door. 

It  was  so  firmly  closed,  that  I  despaired;  and 
after  looking  to  assure  myself  that  the  attempt 
had  not  been  observed,  I  was  going  to  move  away, 
when  I  espied  the  edge  of  a  key  projecting  from 
under  the  door.  Still  all  was  quiet.  A  stealthy 
glance  round,  and  I  had  out  the  key.  To  draw 
back  now  was  to  write  myself  craven  all  my  life ; 
and  with  a  shaking  hand  I  thrust  the  wards  into 
the  lock,  turned  them,  and  in  another  moment 
stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  in  a  neat  gar- 
den, speckled  with  sunshine  and  shade,  and  where 
all  lay  silent. 

I  remained  a  full  minute,  flattened  against  the 
door,  staring  fearfully  at  the  high-fronted  mansion 
that  beyond  the  garden  looked  down  on  me  with 
twelve  great  eyes.  But  all  remained  quiet,  and 
observing  that  the  windows  were  shuttered,  I 
took  courage  to  move,  and  slid  under  a  tree  and 
breathed  again. 


26  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Still  I  looked  and  listened,  fearfully,  for  the  si- 
lence seemed  to  watch  me ;  and  the  greenness  and 
orderliness  of  the  place  frightened  me.  But  noth- 
ing happened,  and  everything  I  saw  went  to  prove 
that  the  house  was  empty.  I  grew  bolder  then, 
and  sneaking  from  bush  to  bush,  reached  the  door 
and  with  a  backward  glance  between  courage  and 
desperation  tried  it. 

It  was  locked,  but  I  hardly  noticed  that;  for, 
as  my  hand  left  the  latch,  from  some  remote  part 
of  the  house  came  the  long-drawn  whine  of  a  dog ! 

I  stood,  listening  and  turning  hot  and  cold  in 
the  sunshine ;  and  dared  not  touch  the  latch  again 
lest  others  should  hear  the  noise.  Instead,  I  stole 
out  of  the  doorway,  and  crept  round  the  house 
and  round  the  house  again,  hunting  for  a  back 
entrance.  I  found  none;  but  at  last,  goaded  by 
the  reflection  that  fortune  would  never  again  be 
so  nearly  within  my  grasp,  I  marked  a  window 
on  the  first  floor,  and  at  the  side  of  the  house; 
by  which  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  might  enter. 
A  mulberry-tree  stood  by  it,  and  it  lacked  bars; 
and  other  trees  veiled  the  spot.  To  be  brief,  in 
two  minutes  I  had  my  knee  on  the  sill,  and,  sweat- 
ing with  terror — for  I  knew  that  if  I  were  taken  I 
should  hang  for  a  thief— I  forced  in  the  casement, 
and  dropped  on  the  floor. 

There  I  waited  a  while,  listening.  I  was  in  a 
bare  room,  the  door  of  which  stood  ajar.  Some- 
where in  the  bowels  of  the  house  the  dog  whined 


FLOEE  27 

again— and  again ;  otherwise  all  was  still — deadly 
still.  But  I  had  risked  too  much  to  stand  now; 
and  in  the  end,  emboldened  by  the  silence,  I  crept 
out  and  stole  along  a  passage,  seeking  the  way 
to  the  lower  floor. 

The  passage  was  dark,  and  every  board  on  which 
I  stepped  shrieked  the  alarm.  But  I  felt  my  way 
to  the  landing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  I 
was  about  to  descend,  when  some  impulse,  I  know 
not  what — perhaps  a  shrinking  from  the  dark 
parts  below,  to  which  I  was  about  to  trust  myself 
— moved  me  to  open  one  of  the  shutters  and  peer 
out. 

I  did  so,  cautiously,  and  but  a  little — a  few  inches. 
I  found  myself  looking,  not  into  the  garden 
through  which  I  had  passed,  but  into  the  one  over 
the  way,  beyond  the  alley,  and  there  on  a  scene 
so  strange  and  yet  so  apropos  to  my  thoughts, 
that  I  paused,  gaping. 

On  a  plat  of  grass  four  men  were  standing,  two 
and  two;  between  them,  with  nose  upraised  and 
scenting  this  way  and  that,  moved  a  beautiful 
curly-haired  spaniel,  in  colour  black  and  tan.  The 
eyes  of  all  four  men  were  riveted  to  the  dog;  which, 
as  I  looked,  walked  sedately  first  to  the  one  pair, 
and  then,  as  if  dissatisfied,  to  the  other  pair ;  and 
then  again  stood  midway  and  sniffed  the  air. 
The  men  were  speaking,  but  I  could  not  catch 
even  their  voices,  and  I  was  reduced  to  drawing 
what  inferences  I  could  from  their  appearance. 


i 


28  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Of  the  two  further  from  me,  one  was  my  ras- 
cally bed-fellow;  the  other  was  a  crooked  villain, 
almost  in  rags,  with  a  leg  shorter  than  its  com- 
rade, yet  a  face  bold  and  even  handsome.  Of  the 
nearer  pair,  who  had  their  backs  to  me,  the  short- 
er, dressed  in  black,  wore  the  ordinary  aspect  of 
a  clerk,  or  confidential  attendant;  but  when  my 
eyes  travelled  to  his  companion,  they  paused. 
He,  it  was  plain  to  me,  was  the  chief  of  the  party, 
for  he  alone  stood  covered;  and  though  I  could 
not  see  his  face  nor  more  of  his  figure  than  that 
he  was  tall,  portly,  and  of  very  handsome  pres- 
ence, it  chanced  that  as  I  looked  he  raised  his 
hand  to  his  chin,  and  I  caught  on  his  thumb, 
which  was  white  as  a  woman's,  the  sparkle  of  a 
superb  jewel. 

That  dazzled  me,  and  the  presence  of  the  dog 
puzzled  me ;  and  I  continued  to  watch,  forgetting 
myself.  Presently  the  man  again  raised  his  hand, 
and  this  time  it  seemed  to  me  that  an  order  was 
given,  for  the  lame  man  started  into  action,  and 
moved  briskly  across  the  sward  towards  the  wall 
which  bordered  the  garden  on  my  side — and  con- 
sequently towards  the  house  in  which  I  stood. 
Before  he  had  moved  far  my  companion  of  the 
night  interposed ;  apparently  he  would  have  done 
the  errand  himself.  But  at  a  word  he  stood  sulk- 
ily and  let  the  other  proceed;  who  when  he  had 
all  but  disappeared— on  so  little  a  thing  my  for- 
tunes turned— below  the  level  of  the  intervening 


FLORE  29 

walls,  looked  up  and  caught  sight  of  me  at  the 
window. 

Apparently  he  gave  the  alarm ;  for  in  an  instant 
the  eyes  of  all  four  were  on  me.  I  hung  a  moment 
in  sheer  surprise,  too  much  taken  aback  to  re- 
treat; then,  as  the  lame  man  and  his  comrade 
sprang  to  the  door  in  the  wall — with  the  evident 
intention  of  seizing  me — I  flung  the  shutter  close, 
and,  cursing  my  curiosity,  I  fled  down  the 
stairs. 

I  had  done  better  had  I  gone  to  the  window  by 
which  I  had  entered,  for  all  below  was  dark ;  and 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  I  stood,  unable,  in  my 
panic,  to  remember  the  position  of  the  door.  A 
key  grating  in  the  lock  informed  me  of  this,  but 
too  late.  On  the  instant  the  door  opened,  a  flood 
of  light  entered,  a  cry  warned  me  that  I  was  de- 
tected. I  turned  to  reascend,  but  stumbled  before 
I  had  mounted  six  steps,  and  as  I  tried  to  rise, 
felt  a  weight  fall  on  my  back,  and  the  clutch  of 
long  fingers  close  about  my  throat.  I  screamed, 
as  I  felt  the  fingers  close  in  a  grip,  deadly,  cold, 
and  merciless— then  in  sheer  terror  I  swooned. 

When  I  recovered  my  senses,  I  found  myself 
propped  in  a  chair,  and  for  a  time  sat  wondering, 
with  an  aching  head,  where  I  was.  In  front  of  me 
a  great  door  stood  open,  admitting  a  draught  of 
summer  air,  and  a  flood  of  sunshine  that  fell  even 
to  my  feet.  Through  the  doorway  I  looked  on 
grass  and  trees,  and  heard  sparrows  twitter,  and 


30  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  chirp  of  crickets;  and  I  found  all  so  peaceful 
that  my  mind  went  no  further,  and  it  was  only 
after  some  minutes  that  I  recognized  with  a  sharp 
return  of  terror,  that  turned  me  sick,  that  I  was 
still  in  the  hall  of  the  empty  house.  That  brought 
back  other  things,  and  with  a  shudder  I  carried 
my  hand  to  my  throat  and  tried  to  rise.  A  hand 
put  me  back,  and  a  dry  voice  said  in  my  ear,  "Be 
easy,  Monsieur  Prosper,  be  easy.  You  are  quite 
safe.  But  I  am  afraid  that  in  our  haste  we  have 
put  you  to  some  inconvenience." 

I  looked  with  a  wry  face  at  the  speaker,  and 
recognized  him  for  one  of  those  I  had  seen  in  the 
garden.  He  had  the  air  of  a  secretary  or — as  he 
stood  rubbing  his  smooth  chin  and  looking  down 
at  me  with  a  saturnine  smile — of  a  physician.  I 
read  in  his  eyes  something  cold  and  not  too  hu- 
man, yet  it  went  no  further.  His  manner  was 
suave,  and  his  voice,  when  he  spoke  again,  as  well 
calculated  to  reassure  as  his  words  were  to  sur- 
prise me. 

"You  are  better  now?"  he  said.  "Yes,  then  I 
have  to  congratulate  you  on  a  strange  chance. 
Few  men,  Monsieur  Prosper,  few  men,  believe  me, 
were  ever  so  lucky.  You  were  lately  I  think  in  the 
service  of  Monseigneur  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais, 
President  of  her  Majesty's  Council?" 

I  fancied  that  a  faint  note  of  irony  lurked  in 
his  words— particularly  as  he  recited  my  late  mas- 
ter's titles,  I  kept  silence. 


FLOKE  31 

"And  yesterday  were  dismissed,"  he  continued 
easily,  disregarding  my  astonishment.  "Well, 
to-day  you  shall  be  reinstated — and  rewarded. 
Your  business  here,  I  believe,  was  to  recover  her 
Majesty's  dog,  and  earn  the  reward?" 

I  remembered  that  the  wretch  whose  finger- 
marks were  still  on  my  throat  might  be  within 
hearing,  and  I  tried  to  utter  a  denial. 

He  waved  it  aside  politely.  "Just  so,"  he  said. 
"But  I  know  your  mind,  better  than  you  do 
yourself.  Well,  the  dog  is  in  that  closet;  and  on 
two  conditions  it  is  at  your  service." 

Amazed  before,  I  stared  at  him  now,  in  a  stu- 
por of  astonishment. 

"You  are  surprised?"  he  said.  "Yet  the  case 
is  of  the  simplest.  We  stole  the  dog,  and  now 
have  our  reasons  for  restoring  it ;  but  we  cannot 
do  so  without  incurring  suspicion.  You,  on  the 
other  hand,  who  are  known  to  the  Bishop,  and 
did  not  steal  it,  may  safely  restore  it.  I  need  not 
say  that  we  divide  the  reward ;  that  is  one  of  the 
two  conditions." 

"And  the  other?"  I  stammered. 

"  That  you  refresh  your  memory  as  to  the  past," 
he  answered  lightly.  "If  I  have  the  tale  rightly, 
you  saw  a  man  convey  a  dog  to  this  house,  an 
empty  house  in  the  Montmartre  Faubourg.  You 
watched,  and  saw  the  man  leave,  and  followed 
him ;  he  took  the  alarm,  fled,  and  dropped  in  his 
flight  the  dog's  coat.  I  think  I  see  it  there.  On 


32  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

that  you  hurried  with  the  coat  to  Monseigneur, 
and  gave  him  the  address  of  the  house,  and " 

"And  the  dog!"  I  exclaimed. 

"No.  Let  Monseigneur  come  and  find  the  dog 
for  himself,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  In  the  closet." 

I  felt  the  blood  tingle  through  all  my  limbs. 
"But  if  he  comes,  and  does  not  find  it?"  I  cried. 

The  stranger  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  He  will 
find  it,"  he  said  coolly.  And  slightly  raising  his 
voice,  he  called  "Flore!  Flore!"  For  answer  a 
dog  whined  behind  a  door,  and  scratched  the  pan- 
els, and  whined  again. 

The  stranger  nodded,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  as 
if  he  were  pleased.  "There,"  he  said,  "you  have 
it.  It  is  there  and  will  be  there.  And  I  think 
that  is  all.  Only  keep  two  things  in  mind,  my 
friend.  For  the  first,  a  person  will  claim  our  share 
of  the  reward  at  the  proper  time :  for  the  second, 
I  would  be  careful  not  to  tell  Monseigneur  the 
President  of  the  Council"— again  that  faint  note  of 
irony— "the  true  story,  lest  a  worse  thing  hap- 
pen !"  And  the  stranger,  with  a  very  ugly  smile, 
touched  his  throat. 

"I  will  not!"  I  said,  shuddering.    "But ?" 

"But  what?" 

"But  I  may  not,"  I  said  faintly— I  hated  the 
Bishop—"  I  may  not  get  speech  of  Monseigneur. 
May  I  not  then  take  the  news  to  the  Palais  Royal 
and— and  let  the  Queen  know  directly?  Or  go 
with  it  to  the  Cardinal?" 


FLORE  33 

"  No,  you  may  not ! "  he  said,  with  a  look  and 
in  a  tone  that  sent  a  shiver  down  my  back.  "  The 
Cardinal?  What  has  the  Cardinal  to  do  with  it? 
Understand !  You  must  do  precisely  that  and 
that  only  which  I  have  told  you,  and  add  not  a 
jot  nor  a  tittle  to  it!" 

"I  will  do  it,"  I  muttered  in  haste.  My  spite 
against  the  Bishop  was  a  small  thing  beside  my 
neck.  And  there  was  the  reward ! 

"Good!  Then— then,  I  think  that  is  all,"  he 
answered,  seeing  in  my  face,  I  think,  that  I  was 
minded  to  be  obedient.  "And  I  may  say  fare- 
well. Until  we  meet  again,  adieu,  Monsieur  Pros- 
per !  Adieu,  and  remember ! "  And  setting  on  his 
hat  with  a  polite  gesture,  he  turned  his  back 
to  me,  went  out  into  the  sunlight,  passed  to  the 
left,  and  vanished.  I  heard  the  garden  door  close 
with  a  crash,  and  then,  silence — silence,  broken  only 
by  the  faint  whine  of  the  dog,  as  it  moved  in  its 
prison. 

Was  I  alone?  I  waited  awhile  before  I  dared  to 
move;  and  even  when  I  found  courage  to  rise,  I 
stood  listening  with  a  beating  heart,  expecting  a 
footfall  on  the  stairs  or  that  something — I  knew 
not  what — would  rush  on  me  from  the  closed 
doors  of  this  mysterious  house.  But  the  silence 
endured.  The  sparrows  outside  twittered,  the 
cricket  renewed  its  chirp,  and  at  length,  drawing 
courage  from  the  sunlight,  I  moved  forward  and 
lifted  the  dog's  coat  from  the  floor.  I  examined 

3 


84  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

it :  it  was  the  one  I  had  seen  in  the  possession  of 
the  man  in  the  shed.  Five  minutes  later  I  was  in 
the  streets  on  my  way  to  the  Bishop's  hotel,  the 
parcel  of  velvet  tucked  under  my  girdle. 

I  have  since  thought  that  I  did  not  fully  ap- 
preciate at  the  moment  the  marvel  that  had  hap- 
pened to  me.  But  by  this  time  in  truth  I  was 
nearly  light-headed.  I  went  my  way  as  a  man 
moves  in  a  dream,  and  even  when  I  found  my- 
self at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  whence  I  had  been 
so  cruelly  ejected,  I  felt  none  of  those  qualms 
which  must  have  shaken  me  had  I  been  sensible. 
I  did  not  even  question  how  I  should  reach  Mon- 
seigneur,  or  get  the  news  to  him :  which  proves 
that  we  often  delude  ourselves  with  vain  fears, 
and  climb  obstacles  where  none  exist.  For,  as  it 
happened,  he  was  descending  from  his  coach  when 
I  entered  the  yard,  and  though  he  raised  his  gold- 
headed  staff  at  sight  of  me,  and  in  a  fury  bade 
the  servants  put  me  out,  I  had  the  passion  if  not 
the  wit  to  wave  the  velvet  coat  in  his  face,  and 
cry  my  errand  before  them  all. 

Heaven  knows  at  that  there  was  such  a  sud- 
den pause  and  about-face  as  must  have  made 
even  the  stolen  dog  laugh  had  it  been  there.  Mon- 
seigneur  in  high  excitement  bade  them  bring  me 
in  to  him  as  soon  as  he  was  shifted,  the  secretary 
whispered  in  my  ear  that  he  had  a  cloak  that 
would  replace  the  one  I  had  lost,  a  valet  told  me 
that  my  wife  was  gone  to  her  father's,  a  serving- 


FLOEE  35 

man  brought  me  food,  and  nudged  me  to  remem- 
ber him,  while  others  ran  and  fetched  me  shoes 
and  a  cap;  and  all— all  from  the  head-clerk,  who 
was  most  insistent,  downwards,  would  know  where 
the  dog  was,  and  how  I  came  to  know  what  I 
did. 

But  I  had  even  then  the  sense  to  keep  my  secret, 
and  would  tell  my  story  only  to  the  Bishop.  He 
had  me  in,  and  heard  it.  In  ten  minutes  he  was 
in  his  coach  on  his  way  to  the  Montmartre  Fau- 
bourg, taking  me  with  him. 

His  presence  and  the  food  they  had  given  me 
while  I  waited  had  sobered  me  somewhat;  and  I 
trembled  as  we  went  lest  the  man  who  had  spared 
me  on  terms  so  strange  had  some  disappointment 
yet  in  store  for  me,  lest  the  closet  be  found  emp- 
ty. But  a  whine,  that  grew  into  a  long  and  mel- 
ancholy howl,  greeted  us  on  the  threshold  of  the 
room  whither  I  led  them ;  and  the  closet  door  be- 
ing forced,  in  a  trice  the  dog  was  out  and  amongst 
us. 

Monseigneur  clapped  his  hands  and  swore  freely. 
"Dieu  benisse!"  he  cried.  "It  is  the  dog,  sure 
enough!  Here,  Flore!  Flore!"  And  as  the  dog 
jumped  on  us  and  licked  his  hand,  he  turned  to 
me.  " Lucky  for  you,  rascal!"  he  cried,  in  great 
good  humour.  "There  shall  be  fifty  crowns  in 
your  pocket,  and  your  desk  again ! " 

I  gasped.  "But  the  reward,  Monseigneur?"  I 
stammered.  "The  five  hundred  crowns?" 


36  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

He  bent  his  black  eyebrows.  "  Reward  ?  Reward, 
villain?"  he  thundered.  "Do  I  hear  aright?  Is 
it  not  enough  that  I  spare  you  the  gallows  you 
richly  earned  but  yesterday  by  assaulting  my  ser- 
vant? Reward?  For  what  do  I  pay  you  wages, 
do  you  think,  except  to  do  my  work?  Are  you 
not  my  servant?  Go  and  hang  yourself!  Or 
rather,"  he  continued  grimly,  "stir  at  your  peril. 
Look  to  him,  Bonnivet,  he  is  a  rogue  in  grain; 
and  bring  him  with  me  to  the  Queen's  ante-cham- 
ber, Her  Majesty  may  desire  to  ask  him  ques- 
tions, and  if  he  answer  them  well  and  handsomely, 
good  !  He  shall  have  the  fifty  crowns  I  promised 
him.  If  not — I  shall  know  how  to  deal  with  him." 

At  that,  and  the  mean  treachery  of  his  conduct, 
I  fell  into  my  old  rage  again,  and  even  his  ser- 
vants looked  oddly  at  him,  until  a  sharp  word 
recalled  them  to  their  duty;  on  which  they  hus- 
tled me  off  with  little  ceremony,  and  the  less  for 
that  which  they  had  before  showed  me.  While  the 
Bishop,  carrying  the  dog  in  his  arms,  mounted 
his  coach  and  went  by  the  Rue  St.  Martin  and 
the  Lombards,  they  hurried  me  by  short  cuts  and 
byways  to  the  Palais  Royal,  which  we  reached  as 
his  running  footman  came  in  sight.  The  approach 
to  the  gate  was  blocked  by  a  great  crowd  of  peo- 
ple, and  for  a  moment  I  was  fond  enough  to  im- 
agine that  they  had  to  do  with  our  affair— and  I 
shrank  back.  But  the  steward,  with  a  thrust  of 
his  knee  against  my  hip,  which  showed  me  that 


FLORE  37 

he  had  not  forgotten  my  assault  upon  him,  urged 
me  forward,  and  from  what  passed  round  me  as 
we  pushed  through  the  press,  I  gathered  that  a 
score  of  captured  colours  had  arrived  from  Flan- 
ders within  the  hour,  and  were  about  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  Queen. 

The  courtyard  confirmed  this,  for  in  the  open 
part  of  it,  and  much  pressed  upon  by  the  curious 
who  thronged  the  arcades,  we  found  a  troop  of 
horse,  plumed  and  dusty  and  travel-stained,  fresh 
from  the  Flanders  road.  The  officers  who  bore 
the  trophies  we  overtook  on  the  stairs  near  the 
door  of  the  ante-chamber.  Burning  with  resent- 
ment as  I  was,  and  strung  to  the  last  pitch  of  ex- 
citement, I  none  the  less  remember  that  I  thought 
it  an  odd  time  to  push  in  with  a  dog;  but  Mon- 
seigneur  the  Bishop  did  not  seem  to  see  this. 
Whether  he  took  a  certain  pleasure  in  belittling 
the  war-party,  to  whom  he  was  opposed  in  his 
politics,  or  merely  knew  his  ground  well,  he  went 
on,  thrusting  the  militaires  aside  with  little  cere- 
mony; and  as  every  one  was  as  quick  to  give 
place  to  him,  as  he  was  to  advance,  in  a  mo- 
ment we  were  in  the  ante-chamber. 

I  had  never  been  admitted  before,  and  from  the 
doorway,  where  I  paused  in  Bonnivet's  keeping, 
I  viewed  the  scene  with  an  interest  that  for  the 
first  time  overcame  my  sense  of  injustice.  The 
long  room  hummed  with  talk ;  a  crowd  of  church- 
men and  pages,  with  a  sprinkling  of  the  lesser  no- 


88  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

bility,  many  lawyers  and  some  soldiers,  filled  it 
from  end  to  end.  In  one  corner  were  a  group  of 
tradesmen  bearing  plate  for  the  Queen's  inspection : 
in  another  stood  a  knot  of  suitors  with  petitions ; 
while  everywhere  men,  whose  eager  faces  and  ex- 
pectant eyes  were  their  best  petitions,  watched  the 
farther  door  with  quivering  lips,  or  sighed  when 
it  opened,  and  emitted  merely  a  councillor  or  a 
marquis.  Several  times  a  masked  lady  flitted 
through  the  crowd,  with  a  bow  here  and  the 
honour  of  her  taper  fingers  there.  The  windows 
were  open,  the  summer  air  entered ;  and  the  mur- 
mur of  the  throng  without,  mingling  with  the  stir 
of  talk  within,  seemed  to  add  to  the  light  and 
colour  of  the  room. 

My  lord  of  Beauvais,  with  his  chaplain  and  his 
pages  at  his  shoulder,  was  making  in  his  stately 
way  towards  the  farther  door,  when  he  met  M.  de 
Chateauneuf,  and  paused  to  speak.  When  he  es- 
caped from  him  a  dozen  clients,  whose  obsequious 
bows  rendered  evasion  impossible,  still  delayed 
him.  And  I  had  grown  cold,  and  hot  again,  and  he 
was  but  halfway  on  his  progress  up  the  crowded 
room,  when  the  inner  door  opened,  half  a  dozen 
voices  cried  "The  Queen!  The  Queen!"  and  an 
usher  with  a  silver  wand  passed  down  the  room 
and  ranked  the  company  on  either  side — not  with- 
out some  struggling,  and  once  a  fierce  oath,  and 
twice  a  smothered  outcry. 

Of  the  bevy  of  ladies  in  attendance,  only  half  a 


FLOfcE  39 

dozen  entered ;  for  a  few  paces  within  the  doorway 
the  Queen-Mother  stood  still  to  receive  my  patron, 
who  had  advanced  to  meet  her.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  she  was  not  best  pleased  to  see  him  at  that 
moment ;  her  voice  rang  somewhat  loud  and  peev- 
ish as  she  said,  "What,  my  lord!  Is  it  you?  I 
came  to  receive  the  trophies  from  Rocroy,  and 
did  not  expect  to  see  you  at  this  hour." 

"I  bring  my  own  excuse,  Madam,"  he  answered, 
smiling  and  unabashed.  "  Have  I  your  Majesty's 
leave  to  present  it?"  he  continued,  with  a  smirk 
and  a  low  bow. 

"I  came  to  receive  the  colours,"  she  retorted, 
still  frowning.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  presumed 
a  trifle  on  his  favour ;  and  either  knew  his  ground 
particularly  well,  or  was  more  obtuse  than  a  clever 
man  should  have  been. 

For  he  did  not  blench.  "I  bring  your  Majesty 
something  as  much  to  your  liking  as  the  col- 
ours!" he  replied. 

Then  I  think  she  caught  his  meaning,  for  her 
proud  Hapsburg  face  cleared  wonderfully,  and  she 
clapped  her  hands  together  with  a  gesture  of  pleas- 
ure almost  childish.  "What!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Have  you  found— Flore?" 

"Yes,  Madam,"  he  said,  smiling  gallantly.  He 
turned.  "Bonnivet!"  he  said. 

But  Bonnivet  had  watched  his  moment.  Before 
the  name  fell  clear  of  his  master's  lips,  he  was  be- 
side him,  and  with  bent  knee  laid  the  dog  tenderly 


40  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

at  her  Majesty's  feet.  She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy 
and  stooped  to  caress  it,  her  fair  ringlets  falling 
and  hiding  her  face  and  her  plump  white  shoul- 
ders. On  that  I  did  not  see  exactly  what  happened ; 
for  her  ladies  flocked  round  her,  and  all  that 
reached  me,  where  I  stood  by  the  door,  took  the 
form  of  excited  cries  of  "Flore!  Fh>re!"  "Oh, 
the  darling ! "  and  the  like.  A  few  old  men  who 
stood  nearest  the  wall  and  farthest  from  the 
Queen  raised  their  eyebrows,  and  the  officers  stand- 
ing with  the  colours  by  the  door,  wore  fallen  faces 
and  glum  looks;  but  nine-tenths  of  the  crowd 
seemed  to  be  carried  away  by  the  Queen's  de- 
light, and  congratulated  one  another  as  warmly 
as  if  ten  Eocroys  had  been  won. 

At  that  moment,  while  I  hung  in  suspense,  ex- 
pecting each  moment  to  be  called  forward,  I  heard 
a  little  stir  at  my  elbow.  Turning— I  had  ad- 
vanced some  way  into  the  room— I  found  myself 
with  others  pushed  aside  to  give  place  to  a  per- 
son of  consequence  who  was  entering ;  and  I  heard 
several  voices  whisper,  "Mazarin!"  As  I  looked, 
he  came  in,  and  pausing  to  speak  to  the  foremost 
of  the  officers,  gave  me  the  opportunity— which  I 
had  never  enjoyed  before — of  viewing  him  near  at 
hand.  He  bore  a  certain  likeness,  to  my  lord  of 
Beauvais,  being  tall  and  of  a  handsome  and  portly 
figure.  But  it  was  such  a  likeness  when  I  looked 
a  second  time,  as  a  jewelled  lanthorn,  lit  within, 
bears  to  its  vacant  fellow.  And  then  in  a  moment 


FLOKE  41 

it  flashed  upon  me — though  now  he  wore  his  Car- 
dinal's robes  and  then  had  been  very  simply 
dressed— that  it  was  he  whose  back  I  had  seen, 
and  whose  dazzling  thumb-ring  had  blinded  me  in 
the  garden  near  the  Filles  Dieu. 

The  thought  had  scarcely  grown  to  a  conviction 
before  he  passed  by  me,  apologizing  almost  hum- 
bly to  those  whom  he  displaced,  and  courteously 
to  all;  and  this,  and  perhaps  also  the  fact  that 
the  mass  of  those  present  belonged  to  my  pa- 
tron's party — who  in  the  streets  had  the  nickname 
of  "  The  Importants" — so  that  they  were  not  quick 
to  make  room  for  him,  rendered  his  progress  so 
slow  that,  my  name  being  called  and  everybody 
hustling  me  forward,  I  came  face  to  face  with  the 
Queen  almost  at  the  moment  that  he  did.  And 
so  I  saw— though  for  a  while  I  was  too  much  ex- 
cited to  understand— what  passed. 

Her  Majesty,  it  seemed  to  me,  did  not  look  un- 
kindly upon  him.  On  the  contrary.  But  my  lord 
of  Beauvais  was  so  full  of  his  success,  and  so  up- 
lifted by  the  presence  of  his  many  friends,  that  he 
had  a  mind  to  make  the  most  of  his  triumph  and 
even  to  flaunt  it  in  his  rival's  face.  "Ha,  the 
Cardinal ! "  he  cried ;  and  before  the  Queen  could 
speak,  "I  hope,"  with  a  bow  and  a  simper, 
"that  your  Eminence  has  been  as  zealous  in  her 
Majesty's  service  as  I  have  been." 

"As  zealous,  assuredly,"  the  Cardinal  replied 
meekly.  "For  my  zeal  I  can  answer.  But  as 


42  IN  KINGS*  BYWAYS 

effective?  Alas,  it  is  not  given  to  all  to  vie  with 
your  Lordship  in  affairs." 

This  answer— though  I  detected  no  smack  of 
irony  in  the  tone — did  not  seem  to  please  the 
Queen.  "  The  Bishop  has  done  me  a  great  service. 
He  has  recovered  my  dog,"  she  said  tartly. 

"  He  is  a  happy  man,  and  the  happy  must  look 
to  be  envied,"  the  Cardinal  answered  glibly. 
"Your  Majesty's  dog " 

"Your  Eminence  never  liked  Flore!"  the  Queen 
exclaimed  with  feeling.  And  she  tossed  her  head, 
as  I  have  seen  quite  common  women  do  it  in  the 
street. 

"You  do  me  a  very  great  wrong,  Madam !"  the 
Cardinal  answered,  with  the  look  of  a  man  much 
hurt.  "If  the  dog  were  here — but  it  is  not,  I 
think." 

"Your  Eminence  is  for  once  at  a  loss!"  the 
Bishop  said,  with  a  sneer;  and  at  a  word  from 
him  one  of  the  ladies  came  forward,  nursing  the 
dog  in  her  arms. 

The  Cardinal  looked.  "Umph,"  he  said.  He 
looked  again,  frowning. 

I  did  not  know  then  that,  whether  the  Queen 
liked  him  or  disliked  him,  she  ever  took  heed  of 
his  looks ;  and  I  started  when  she  cried  pettishly— 

"Well,  sir,  what  now?    What  is  it?" 

The  Cardinal  pursed  up  his  lips. 

My  lord  the  Bishop  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"He  will  say  presently,"  he  cried,  snorting  with 


FLORE  43 

indignation,  "  that  it  is  not  the  dog !  It  is  that  his 
Eminence  would  say,"  with  a  sneer,  "if  he  dared  !" 

His  Eminence  shrugged  his  shoulders  very  slight- 
ly, and  turned  the  palms  of  his  hands  outwards. 
"Oh,"  he  said,  "if  her  Majesty  is  satisfied  I  am." 

"M'dieu!  "  the  Queen  cried,  with  a  spirt  of  anger 
—"what  do  you  mean?"  But  she  turned  to  the 
lady  who  held  the  dog,  and  took  it  from  her.  "  It 
is  the  dog!"  she  said,  her  colour  high.  "Do  you 
think  that  I  do  not  know  my  own  dog?"  she 
continued.  And  she  set  the  dog  on  its  feet.  She 
called  it  "Flore!  Flore!"  It  turned  to  her  and 
wagged  its  tail  eagerly,  and  jumped  upon  her 
skirts,  and  licked  her  hand. 

"Poor  Flore!"  said  the  Cardinal.  "Flore!" 
It  went  to  him. 

"Certainly  its  name  is  Flore,"  he  said:  yet  he 
continued  to  scan  it  with  a  puzzled  eye.  "It  is 
the  dog,  I  suppose.  But  it  used  to  die  at  the 
word  of  command,  I  think?" 

"What  it  did,  it  will  do  !"  Monseigneur  de  Beau- 
vais  cried  scornfully.  "But  I  see  that  your  Emi- 
nence was  right  in  one  thing  you  said." 

The  Cardinal  bowed. 

"  That  I  should  be  envied ! "  the  Bishop  retorted, 
with  a  sneer.  And  he  glanced  round  the  circle. 
There  was  a  slight  though  general  titter ;  a  great 
lady  at  the  Queen's  elbow  laughed  out. 

"Flore,"  said  the  Queen,  "die!  Die,  good  dog. 
Do  you  hear,  m'dieu!  die!" 


44  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

But  the  dog  only  gazed  into  her  Majesty's  face 
with  a  spaniel's  soft  affectionate  eyes,  and  wagged 
its  tail;  and  though  she  cried  to  it  again  and 
again,  and  angrily,  it  made  no  attempt  to  obey. 
On  that  a  deep-drawn  breath  ran  round  the  cir- 
cle ;  one  looked  at  another ;  and  there  were  raised 
eyebrows.  A  score  of  heads  were  thrust  forward, 
and  some  who  had  seemed  merry  enough  the  mo- 
ment before  looked  grave  as  mutes  now. 

"It  used  to  bark  for  France  and  growl  for 
Spain,"  the  Cardinal  continued  in  his  softest  voice. 
"One  of  the  charmingest  things,  madam,  I  ever 
saw.  Perhaps  if  your  Majesty  would  try " 

"France!"  the  Queen  cried  imperiously;  and 
she  stamped  on  the  floor.  "France!  France!" 

But  the  dog  only  retreated,  cowering  and  dis- 
mayed. From  a  distance  it  wagged  its  tail  piti- 
fully. 

"  France ! "  cried  the  Queen,  almost  with  passion. 
The  dog  cowered. 

"  I  am  afraid,  my  Lord,  that  it  has  lost  its  ac- 
complishments—in  your  company!"  the  Cardinal 
said,  a  faint  smile  curling  his  lips. 

The  Bishop  dropped  a  smothered  oath.  "It  is 
the  dog!"  he  cried  vehemently. 

But  the  Queen  turned  to  him  sharply,  her  face 
crimson. 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you  !"  she  replied.  "It  is 
like  the  dog,  but  it  is  not  the  dog.  And  more,  my 
Lord,"  she  continued,  with  vehemence  equal  to  his 


FLORE  45 

own,  "I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  explain  how 
you  came  into  possession  of  this  dog.  A  dog  so 
nearly  resembling  my  dog— and  yet  not  my  dog 
— could  not  be  found  in  a  moment  nor  without 
some  foul  contrivance." 

"It  has  forgotten  its  tricks,"  the  Bishop  said. 

"  Nonsense ! "  the  Queen  retorted. 

A  great  many  faces  had  grown  grave  by  this 
time ;  I  have  said  that  the  room  was  filled  for  the 
most  part  with  the  Bishop's  supporters.  "At 
any  rate  I  know  nothing  about  it !"  he  exclaimed, 
wiping  his  brow  and  pointing  to  me.  "I  offered  a 
reward,  and  that  knave  there  found  the  dog." 
Between  anger  and  discomfiture  he  stammered. 

"One  of  my  Lord's  servants,  I  think,"  the  Car- 
dinal said  easily. 

"Oh!"  the  Queen  answered,  with  a  world  of 
meaning;  and  she  looked  at  me  with  eyes  before 
which  I  quailed.  "Is  that  true,  fellow!"  she  said. 
"Are  you  in  my  Lord's  service?" 

I  stammered  an  affirmative. 

"Then  I  wish  to  hear  no  more,"  she  replied 
haughtily.  "No,  my  Lord.  Enough!"  she  con- 
tinued, raising  her  voice  to  drown  his  protesta- 
tions. "I  do  not  care  to  know  whether  you  were 
more  sinned  against  than  sinning;  or  a  greater 
fool  than  your  creature  is  a  knave.  Pray  take 
your  animal  away.  Doubtless  in  a  very  short 
time  I  should  have  discovered  the  cheat  for  my- 
self. I  think  I  see  a  difference  now.  I  am  sure  I 


46  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

do.  But,  as  it  is,  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  his 
Eminence  for  his  aid — and  his  sagacity." 

She  brought  out  the  last  word  with  withering 
emphasis,  and  amid  profound  silence.  The  Bishop, 
staggered  and  puzzled,  but  too  wise  to  persist 
longer  in  the  dog's  identity,  still  tried  desperately 
to  utter  some  word  of  excuse;  but  the  Queen, 
whose  vanity  had  received  a  serious  wound — since 
she  had  not  at  once  known  her  own  pet— cut  him 
short  with  a  curt  and  freezing  dismissal,  and  im- 
mediately turning  to  the  Cardinal,  she  requested 
him  to  introduce  to  her  the  officers  who  had  the 
colours  in  charge. 

It  may  be  imagined  how  I  felt,  and  what  ter- 
rors I  experienced  during  this  struggle;  since  it 
required  no  great  wit  to  infer  that  the  Bishop,  if 
defeated,  would  wreak  his  vengeance  on  me.  Al- 
ready a  dozen  who  had  attended  my  Lord  of 
Beauvais'  levee  that  morning  were  fawning  on  the 
Cardinal;  the  Queen  had  turned  her  shoulder  to 
him ;  a  great  lady  over  whom  he  bent  to  hide  his 
chagrin,  talked  to  him  indeed,  but  flippantly,  and 
with  eyes  half  closed  and  but  part  of  her  attention. 
For  all  these  slights,  and  the  defeat  which  they 
indicated,  I  foresaw  that  I  should  pay  with  my 
life :  and  in  a  panic,  seeing  no  hope  but  in  escap- 
ing on  the  instant  before  he  took  his  measures,  I 
slid  back  and  strove  to  steal  away  through  the 
crowd. 

I  reached  the  door  in  safety,  and  even  the  head 


FLORE  47 

of  the  stairs.  But  there  a  hand  gripped  my 
shoulder,  and  the  steward  thrust  a  face,  white 
with  rage  and  dismay,  into  mine.  "Not  so  fast, 
Master  Plotter ! "  he  hissed  in  my  ear.  "  You  have 
ruined  us,  but  if  your  neck  does  not  pay  for  this 
— if  you  are  not  lashed  like  a  dog  first  and  hung 
afterwards — I  am  a  Spaniard !  If  for  this  I  do 
not " 

"By  the  Queen's  command,"  said  a  quiet  voice 
in  my  other  ear ;  and  a  hand  fell  on  that  shoulder 
also. 

The  steward  glanced  at  his  rival.  "He  is  the 
Bishop's  man  ! "  he  cried,  throwing  out  his  chest ; 
and  he  gripped  me  again. 

" And  the  Bishop  is  the  Queen's!"  was  the  curt 
and  pithy  reply ;  and  the  stranger,  in  whom  I  rec- 
ognized the  man  who  had  delivered  the  dog's 
cape  to  me,  quietly  put  him  by.  "Her  Majesty 
has  committed  this  person  to  the  Cardinal's  cus- 
tody until  inquiry  be  made  into  the  truth  of  his 
story,  and  the  persons  who  are  guilty  be  ascer- 
tained. In  the  mean  time,  if  you  have  any  com- 
plaint to  make  you  can  make  it  to  his  Eminence." 

After  that  there  was  no  more  to  be  said  or 
done.  The  steward,  baffled  and  bursting  with  rage, 
fell  back ;  and  the  stranger,  directing  me  by  a  ges- 
ture to  attend  him  close,  descended  the  stairs  and 
crossing  the  courtyard,  entered  St.  Honore.  I 
was  in  a  maze  what  I  was  to  expect  from  him ;  and 
overjoyed  as  I  was  at  my  present  deliverance,  had 


48  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

a  sneaking  fear  that  I  might  be  courting  a  worse 
fate  in  this  inquiry ;  so  grim  and  secretive  was  my 
guide's  face,  and  so  much  did  that  sombre  dress 
—which  gave  him  somewhat  of  the  character  of  an 
inquisitor— add  to  the  weight  of  his  silence.  How- 
ever, when  he  had  crossed  St.  Honore  and  entered 
a  lane  leading  to  the  river,  he  halted  and  turned 
to  me. 

"There  are  twenty  crowns,"  he  said  abruptly; 
and  he  placed  a  purse  in  my  hand.  "Take  them, 
and  do  exactly  as  I  bid  you,  and  all  will  be  well. 
At  the  Quai  de  Notre  Dame  you  will  find  a  mar- 
ket-boat starting  for  Rouen.  Go  by  it,  and  at 
the  Ecce  Homo  in  the  Rue  St.  Eloi  in  that  city 
you  will  find  your  wife  and  a  hundred  crowns. 
Live  there  quietly,  and  in  a  month  apply  for  work 
at  the  Chancery;  it  will  be  given  you.  The  rest 
lies  with  you.  I  have  known  men,"  he  continued, 
with  a  puzzling  smile,  "who  started  at  a  desk  in 
that  Chancery  and,  being  very  silent  men,  able  to 
keep  a  secret — able  to  keep  a  secret,  mark  you — 
lived  to  rent  one  of  the  great  farms." 

I  tried  to  find  words  to  thank  him. 

"There  is  no  need,"  he  said.  "For  what  you 
have  done,  it  is  too  much.  For  what  you  have 
to  do— rule  the  unruly  member— it  is  no  more  than 
is  right." 

And  now  I  agree  with  him.  Now— though  his 
words  came  true  to  the  letter,  and  to-day  I  hold 
one  of  the  great  farms  on  a  second  term — I  too 


FLORE  49 

think  that  it  was  no  more  than  was  right.  For 
if  M.  de  Conde  won  Rocroy  for  his  side  in  the 
field,  the  Cardinal  on  that  day  won  a  victory  no 
less  eminent  at  court ;  of  which  victory  the  check 
administered  to  M.  de  Beauvais— who  had  nothing 
but  a  good  presence,  and  collapsing  like  a  pricked 
bladder,  became  within  a  month  the  most  dis- 
credited of  men— was  the  first  movement.  Within 
a  month  the  heads  of  the  Importants— so,  I  have 
said,  the  Bishop's  party  were  christened — were  in 
prison  or  exiled  or  purchased ;  and  all  France  knew 
that  it  lay  in  a  master's  hand — knew  that  the  man- 
tle of  Richelieu,  with  a  double  portion  of  the  royal 
favour,  had  fallen  on  Mazarin's  shoulders.  I  need 
scarcely  add  that,  before  that  fact  became  known 
to  all— for  such  things  do  not  become  certainties 
in  a  minute — his  Eminence  had  been  happy  enough 
to  find  the  true  Flore  and  restore  it  to  her  Ma- 
jesty's arms. 
4 


CRILLON'S   STAKE. 

ON  a  certain  wet  night,  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
1587,  the  rain  was  doing  its  utmost  to  sweeten 
the  streets  of  old  Paris :  the  kennels  were  aflood 
with  it,  and  the  March  wind,  which  caused  the 
crowded  signboards  to  creak  and  groan  on  their 
bearings,  and  ever  and  anon  closed  a  shutter  with 
the  sound  of  a  pistol-shot,  blew  the  downpour  in 
sheets  into  exposed  doorways,  and  drenched  to 
the  skin  the  few  wayfarers  who  were  abroad.  Here 
and  there  a  stray  dog,  bent  over  a  bone,  slunk 
away  at  the  approach  of  a  roisterer's  footstep; 
more  rarely  a  passenger,  whose  sober  or  stealthy 
gait  whispered  of  business  rather  than  pleasure, 
moved  cowering  from  street  to  street,  under  such 
shelter  as  came  in  his  way. 

About  two  hours  before  midnight,  a  man  issued 
somewhat  suddenly  from  the  darkness  about  the 
head  of  the  Pont  du  Change  and  turned  the  corner 
into  the  Hue  de  St.  Jacques  la  Boucherie,  a  street 
which  ran  parallel  with  the  Quays,  about  half 
a  mile  east  of  the  Louvre.  His  heavy  cloak  con- 
cealed his  figure,  but  he  made  his  way  in  the  teeth 
of  the  wind  with  the  spring  and  vigour  of  youth ; 
and  arriving  presently  at  a  doorway,  which  had 
the  air  of  retiring  modestly  under  a  couple  of 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  51 

steep  dark  gables,  and  yet  was  rendered  conspicu- 
ous by  the  light  which  shone  through  the  un- 
glazed  grating  above  it,  he  knocked  sharply  on 
the  oak.  After  a  short  delay  the  door  slid  open 
of  itself  and  the  man  entered.  He  showed  none 
of  a  stranger's  surprise  at  the  invisibility  of  the 
porter,  but  after  staying  to  shut  the  door,  he  ad- 
vanced along  a  short  passage,  which  was  only 
partially  closed  at  the  further  end  by  a  high 
wooden  screen.  Coasting  round  this  he  entered  a 
large  low-roofed  room,  lighted  in  part  by  a  dozen 
candles,  in  part  by  a  fire  which  burned  on  a  raised 
iron  plate  in  the  corner. 

The  air  was  thick  with  wood  smoke,  but  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  room,  a  dozen  men,  seated,  some 
at  a  long  table,  and  some  here  and  there  in  pairs, 
seemed  able  to  recognize  the  new-comer  through  it, 
and  hailed  his  appearance  with  a  cry  of  welcome 
—a  cry  that  had  in  it  a  ring  of  derision.  One 
man  who  stood  near  the  fire,  impatiently  kicking 
the  logs  with  his  spurred  boots,  turned,  and  seeing 
who  it  was  moved  towards  him.  "Welcome,  M. 
de  Bazan,"  he  said  briskly;  "so  you  have  come 
to  resume  our  duel!  I  had  given  up  hope  of 
you." 

"  I  am  here/'  the  new-comer  answered.  He  spoke 
curtly,  and  as  he  did  so  he  took  off  his  horseman's 
cloak  and  laid  it  aside.  The  action  disclosed  a 
man  scarcely  twenty,  moderately  well  dressed, 
and  of  slight  though  supple  figure.  His  face  wore 


52  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

an  air  of  determination  singular  in  one  so  young, 
and  at  variance  with  the  quick  suspicious  glances 
with  which  he  took  in  the  scene.  He  did  not 
waste  time  in  staring,  however,  but  quickly  and 
with  a  business-like  air  he  seated  himself  at  a 
small  wooden  table  which  stood  in  a  warm  corner 
of  the  hearth,  and  directly  under  a  brace  of  can- 
dles. Calling  for  a  bottle  of  wine,  he  threw  a  bag 
of  coin  on  the  table ;  at  the  same  time  he  hitched 
forward  his  sword  until  the  pommel  of  the  weapon 
lay  across  his  left  thigh;  a  sinister  movement 
which  the  debauched  and  reckless  looks  of  some 
of  his  companions  seemed  to  justify.  The  man 
who  had  addressed  him  took  his  seat  opposite, 
and  the  two,  making  choice  of  a  pair  of  dice-boxes, 
began  to  play. 

They  did  not  use  the  modern  game  of  hazard, 
but  simply  cast  the  dice,  each  taking  it  in  turn  to 
throw,  and  a  nick  counting  as  a  drawn  battle. 
The  two  staked  sums  higher  than  were  usual  in 
the  company  about  them,  and  one  by  one,  the 
other  gamblers  forsook  their  tables,  and  came 
and  stood  round.  As  the  game  proceeded,  the 
young  stranger's  face  grew  more  and  more  pale, 
his  eyes  more  feverish.  But  he  played  in  silence. 
Not  so  his  backers.  A  volley  of  oaths  and  excla- 
mations almost  as  thick  as  the  wood  smoke  that 
in  part  shrouded  the  game,  began  to  follow  each 
cast  of  the  dice.  The  air,  one  moment  still  and 
broken  only  by  the  hollow  rattle  of  the  dice  in 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  53 

the  box,  rang  the  next  instant  with  the  fierce  out- 
burst of  a  score  of  voices. 

The  place,  known  as  Simon's,  was  a  gaming- 
'house  of  the  second  class :  frequented,  as  the 
shabby  finery  of  some  and  the  tarnished  arms  of 
others  seemed  to  prove,  by  the  poorer  courtiers  and 
the  dubious  adventurers  who  live  upon  the  great. 
It  was  used  in  particular  by  the  Guise  faction,  at 
this  time  in  power;  for  though  Henry  of  Yalois 
was  legal  and  nominal  King  of  France,  Henry  of 
Guise,  the  head  of  the  League,  and  the  darling  of 
Paris,  imposed  his  will  alike  upon  the  King  and  the 
favourites.  He  enjoyed  the  substance  of  power; 
the  King  had  no  choice  but  to  submit  to  his 
policy.  In  secret  Henry  the  Third  resented  the  po- 
sition, and  between  his  immediate  servants  and 
the  arrogant  followers  of  the  Guises  there  was 
bitter  enmity. 

As  the  game  proceeded,  a  trifle  showed  that  the 
young  player  was  either  ignorant  of  politics,  or 
belonged  to  a  party  rarely  represented  at  Simon's. 
For  some  time  he  and  his  opponent  had  enjoyed 
equal  luck.  Then  they  doubled  the  stakes,  and 
fortune  immediately  declared  herself  against  him ; 
with  wondrous  quickness  his  bag  grew  lank  and 
thin,  the  pile  at  the  other's  elbow  a  swollen  slid- 
ing heap.  The  perspiration  began  to  stand  on  the 
young  man's  face.  His  hand  trembled  as  he  shook 
out  the  last  coins  left  in  the  bag  and  shoved  them 
forward  amid  a  murmur  half  of  derision  half  of 


54  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

sympathy;  for  if  he  was  a  stranger  from  the 
country— that  was  plain,  and  they  had  recognized 
it  at  his  first  appearance  among  them  three  days 
before — at  least  he  played  bravely.  His  opponent, 
whose  sallow  face  betrayed  neither  joy  nor  tri- 
umph, counted  out  an  equal  sum,  and  pushed  it 
forward  without  a  word.  The  young  man  took 
up  the  box,  and  for  the  first  time  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate; it  could  be  seen  that  he  had  bitten  his  lip 
until  it  bled.  "After  you,"  he  muttered  at  last, 
withdrawing  his  hand.  He  shrank  from  throwing 
his  last  throw. 

'"It  is  your  turn,"  the  other  replied  impassively, 
"but  as  you  will."  He  shook  the  box,  brought 
it  down  sharply  on  the  table  and  raised  it. 
"The  Duke!"  he  said  with  an  oath— he  had 
thrown  the  highest  possible.  "Twelve  is  the 
game." 

With  a  shiver  the  lad — he  was  little  more  than  a 
lad,  though  in  his  heart,  perhaps,  the  greatest 
gambler  present — dashed  down  his  box.  He  raised 
it.  "The  King!"  he  cried;  "long  life  to  him!" 
He  had  also  thrown  twelve.  His  cheek  flushed  a 
rosy  red,  and  with  a  player's  superstitious  belief 
in  his  luck  he  regarded  the  check  given  to  his  op- 
ponent in  the  light  of  a  presage  of  victory.  They 
threw  again,  and  he  won  by  two  points— nine  to 
seven.  Hurrah ! 

"King  or  Duke,"  the  tall  man  answered,  re- 
straining by  a  look  the  interruption  which  more 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  55 

than  one  of  the  bystanders  seemed  about  to  offer, 
"the  money  is  yours;  take  it." 
'"Let  it  lie,"  the  young  man  answered  joyously. 
His  eyes  sparkled.  When  the  other  had  pushed  an 
equal  amount  into  the  middle  of  the  table,  he 
threw  again,  and  with  confidence. 

Alas!  his  throw  was  a  deuce  and  an  ace.  The 
elder  player  threw  four  and  two.  He  swept  up 
the  pile.  "  Better  late  than  never,"  he  said.  And 
leaning  back  he  looked  about  him  with  a  grin  of 
satisfaction. 

The  young  man  rose.  The  words  which  had 
betrayed  that  he  was  not  of  the  Duke's  faction, 
had  cost  him  the  sympathy  the  spectators  had 
before  felt  for  him;  and  no  one  spoke.  It  was 
something  that  they  kept  silence,  that  they  did 
not  interfere  with  him.  His  face,  pale  in  the  light 
of  the  candles  which  burned  beside  him,  was  a 
picture  of  despair.  Suddenly,  as  if  he  bethought 
him  of  something,  he  sat  down  again,  and  with 
a  shaking  hand  took  from  his  neck  a  slender  gold 
chain  with  a  pendant  ornament.  "Will  you  stake 
against  this?"  he  murmured  with  dry  lips. 

"Against  that,  or  your  sword,  or  your  body, 
or  anything  but  your  soul!"  the  other  answered 
with  a  reckless  laugh.  He  took  up  the  chain  and 
examined  it.  "I  will  set  you  thirty  crowns  against 
it !"  he  said. 

They  threw  and  the  young  man  lost. 

"I  will  stake  ten  crowns  against  your  sword  if 


56  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

you  like,"  the  victor  continued,  eyeing  the  curi- 
ously chased  pommel. 

"No,"  the  young  man  replied,  stung  by  some- 
thing in  the  elder's  tone.  "That  I  may  want. 
But  I  will  set  my  life  against  yours!" 

A  chuckle  went  round.  "Bravo!"  cried  half  a 
dozen  voices.  One  man  in  the  rear,  whose  busi- 
ness it  was  to  enlist  men  in  the  Duke's  guard, 
pressed  forward,  scenting  a  recruit. 

"  Your  life  against  mine !  With  these?"  the  win- 
ner answered,  holding  up  the  dice. 

"Yes,  or  as  you  please."  He  had  not  indeed 
meant  with  those :  he  had  spoken  in  the  soreness 
of  defeat,  intending  a  challenge. 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said,  "no. 
No  man  can  say  that  Michel  Berthaud  ever  balked 
his  player,  but  it  is  not  a  fair  offer.  You  have 
lost  all,  my  friend,  and  I  have  won  all.  I  am 
rich,  you  are  poor.  'Tis  no  fair  stake.  But  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I  will  set  you  your  gold 
chain  and  seventy  crowns— against  your  life  if  you 
like." 

A  roar  of  laughter  hailed  the  proposal.  "A 
hundred!"  cried  several,  "a  hundred!" 

"Very  well.  The  gold  chain  and  a  hundred. 
Be  it  so!" 

"But  my  life?"  the  young  man  muttered,  gaz- 
ing at  him  in  bewilderment.  "  Of  what  use  will  it 
be  to  you,  M.  Berthaud?" 

"That  is  my  business,"  was  the  dry   answer. 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  57 

"  If  you  lose,  it  is  forfeit  to  me.  That  is  all,  and 
the  long  and  the  short  of  it.  To  be  frank,  I  have 
a  service  which  I  wish  you  to  perform  for  me." 

"And  if  I  will  not  perform  it?" 

"Then  I  will  take  your  word  as  a  gentleman 
that  you  will  kill  yourself.  Observe,  however,  that 
if  I  win  I  shall  allow  you  a  choice,  my  friend." 

He  leaned  back  with  that,  meeting  with  a  faint 
smile  and  half-lowered  eye-lids,  the  various  looks 
bent  on  him.  Some  stared,  some  nodded  secret 
comprehension,  some  laughed  outright,  or  nudged 
one  another  and  whispered.  For  four  evenings 
they,  the  habitues  of  the  place,  had  watched  this 
play  duel  go  on,  but  they  had  not  looked  for  an 
end  so  abnormal  as  this.  They  had  known  men 
stake  wives  and  mistresses,  love  and  honour,  ay, 
their  very  clothes,  and  go  home  naked  through 
the  streets;  for  the  streets  of  Paris  saw  strange 
things  in  those  days.  But  life?  Well,  even  that 
they  had  seen  men  stake  in  effect,  once,  twice,  a 
hundred  times ;  but  never  in  so  many  words,  never 
on  a  wager  as  novel  as  this.  So  with  an  amaze- 
ment which  no  duel,  fought  as  was  the  custom 
in  that  day,  three  to  three,  or  six  to  six,  would 
have  evoked,  they  gathered  round  the  little  table 
under  the  candles  and  waited  for  the  issue. 

The  young  man  shivered.  Then,  "I  accept,"  he 
said  slowly.  In  effect  he  was  desperate,  driven  to 
his  last  straits.  He  had  lost  his  all,  the  all  of  a 
young  man  sent  up  to  Paris  to  make  his  fortune, 


58  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

with  a  horse,  his  sword,  and  a  bag  of  crowns— 
the  latter  saved  for  him  by  a  father's  stern  fru- 
gality, a  mother's  tender  self-denial.  A  week  ago 
he  had  never  seen  a  game  of  chance.  Then  he  had 
seen ;  the  dice  had  fallen  in  his  way,  the  devil  of 
play,  cursed  legacy  of  some  long-forgotten  ances- 
tor, had  awoke  within  him,  and  this  was  the  end. 
"I  accept,"  he  said  slowly. 

His  opponent,  still  with  his  secretive  smile,  took 
up  the  caster.  But  a  short,  sturdy  man,  who  was 
standing  at  his  elbow,  and  who  wore  the  colours 
of  the  Duke  of  Guise,  intervened.  "No,  Michel," 
he  said,  with  a  good-natured  glance  at  the  young 
player.  "  Let  the  lad  choose  his  bones,  and  throw 
first  or  last  as  he  pleases." 

"Eight,"  said  Berthaud,  yawning.  "It  is  no 
matter.  My  star  is  in  the  ascendant  to-night. 
He  will  not  win." 

The  young  man  took  up  the  box,  shook  it,  hes- 
itated, swallowed,  and  threw  seven ! 

Berthaud  threw  carelessly — seven ! 

Some  shouted,  some  drew  a  deep  breath,  or 
whispered  an  oath.  These  wild  spirits,  who  had 
faced  death  often  in  one  form  or  another,  were 
still  children,  and  still  in  a  new  thing  found  a 
new  pleasure. 

"Your  star  may  be  in  the  ascendant,"  the  man 
muttered  who  had  intervened  before,  "but  it — 
well,  it  twinkles,  Michel." 

Berthaud   did   not    answer.     The  young  man 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  59 

made  him  a  sign  to  throw.  He  threw  again — 
eight. 

The  young  man  threw  with  a  hand  that  scarcely 
dared  to  let  the  dice  go.  Seven  I  He  had  lost. 

An  outburst  might  have  been  expected,  some  cry 
of  violence,  of  despair.  It  did  not  come.  And  a 
murmur  passed  round  the  circle.  "Berthaud  will 
recruit  him,"  growled  one.  "A  queer  game," 
muttered  another,  and  thought  hard.  Nor  did  the 
men  go  back  to  their  tables.  They  waited  to  see 
what  would  follow,  what  would  come  of  it.  For 
the  young  man  who  had  lost  sat  staring  at  the 
table  like  one  in  a  dream ;  until  presently  his  op- 
ponent reaching  out  a  hand  touched  his  sleeve. 
"Courage!"  Berthaud  said,  a  flicker  of  triumph 
in  his  eye,  "a  word  with  you  aside.  No  need  of 
despair,  man.  You  have  but  to  do  what  I  ask, 
and  you  will  see  sixty  yet." 

Obedient  to  his  gesture  the  young  man  rose,  and 
the  other  drawing  him  aside  began  to  talk  to  him 
in  a  low  voice.  The  remaining  players  loitering 
about  the  deserted  table  could  not  hear  what  was 
said ;  but  one  or  two  by  feigning  to  strike  a  sud- 
den blow,  seemed  to  pass  on  their  surmises  to 
those  round  them.  One  thing  was  clear.  The  lad 
objected  to  the  proposal  made,  objected  fiercely 
and  with  vehemence;  and  at  last  submitted  only 
with  reluctance.  Submit  in  the  end,  however,  he 
did,  for  after  some  minutes  of  this  private  talk 
he  went  to  his  cloak3  and  avoiding,  as  it  seemed, 


60  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

his  fellows'  eyes,  put  it  on.  Berthaud  accompanied 
him  to  the  door,  and  the  winner's  last  words 
were  audible.  "That  is  all,"  he  said;  "succeed  in 
what  I  impose,  M.  de  Bazan,  and  I  cry  quits,  and 
you  shall  have  fifty  crowns  for  your  pains.  Fail, 
and  you  will  but  be  paying  your  debt.  But  you 
will  not  fail.  Remember,  half  an  hour  after  mid- 
night. And  courage!" 

The  young  man  nodded  sullenly,  and  drawing 
his  cloak  about  his  throat,  went  through  the  pas- 
sage to  the  street.  The  night  was  a  little  older 
than  when  he  had  entered,  otherwise  it  was  un- 
changed. The  rain  was  still  falling ;  the  wind  still 
buffeted  the  creaking  shutters  and  the  swinging 
sign-boards.  But  the  man?  He  had  entered, 
thinking  nothing  of  rain  or  wind,  thinking  little 
even  of  the  horse  and  furniture,  and  the^good 
clothes  made  under  his  mother's  eye,  which  he 
had  sacrificed  to  refill  his  purse.  The  warmth  of 
the  play  fever  coursing  through  his  veins  had  clad 
him  in  proof  against  cold  and  damp  and  the  de- 
pression of  the  gloomy  streets,  even  against  the 
thought  of  home.  And  for  the  good  horse,  and 
the  laced  shirts  and  the  gold  braid,  the  luck  could 
not  run  against  him  again !  He  would  win  all 
back,  and  the  crowns  to  boot. 

So  he  had  thought  as  he  went  in.  And  now? 
He  stood  a  moment  in  the  dark,  narrow  chasm 
of  a  street,  and  looked  up,  letting  the  rain  cool 
his  brow ;  looked  up,  and,  seeing  a  wrack  of  clouds 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  61 

moving  swiftly  across  the  slit  of  stormy  sky  vis- 
ible between  the  overhanging  roofs,  faced  in  a 
dull  amazement  the  fact  that  he  who  now  stood 
in  the  darkness,  bankrupt  even  in  life,  was  the 
same  man  who  had  entered  Paris  so  rich  in  hope 
and  youth  and  life  a  week — only  a  week — before. 
He  remembered — it  was  an  odd  thing  to  occur  to 
him  when  his  thoughts  should  have  been  full  of 
the  events  of  the  last  hour — a  fault  of  which  he 
had  been  guilty  down  there  in  the  country;  and 
of  which,  taking  advantage  of  a  wrathful  father's 
offer  to  start  him  in  Paris,  he  had  left  the  weaker 
sinner  to  bear  the  brunt.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  here  was  his  punishment.  The  old  grey 
house  at  home,  quaint  and  weather-beaten,  rose 
before  him.  He  saw  his  mother's  herb-garden, 
the  great  stackyard,  and  the  dry  moat,  half  filled 
with  blackberry  bushes,  in  which  he  had  played 
as  a  boy.  And  on  him  fell  a  strange  calm,  be- 
tween apathy  and  resignation.  This,  then,  was 
his  punishment.  He  would  bear  it  like  a  man. 
There  should  be  no  flinching  a  second  time,  no 
putting  the  burden  on  others'  shoulders,  no  self- 
sparing  at  another's  cost. 

He  started  to  walk  briskly  in  the  direction  of 
the  Louvre.  But  when  he  had  gained  the  corner 
of  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  palace,  whence 
he  had  a  view  of  the  main  gate  between  the  two 
tennis  courts,  he  halted  and  looked  up  and  down 
as  if  he  hesitated.  A  watch-fire  smouldering  and 


62  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

sputtering  in  the  rain  was  burning  dully  before  the 
drawbridge;  the  forms  of  one  or  two  men,  ap- 
parently sentinels,  were  dimly  visible  about  it. 
After  standing  in  doubt  more  then  a  minute, 
Bazan  glided  quickly  to  the  porch  of  the  church 
of  St.  Germain  PAuxerrois,  and  disappeared  in  the 
angle  between  it  and  the  cloisters. 

He  had  been  stationary  in  this  position  for 
some  half-hour— in  what  bitterness  of  spirit,  com- 
bating what  regrets  and  painful  thoughts  it  is 
possible  only  to  imagine — when  a  slight  commo- 
tion took  place  at  the  gate  which  faced  him.  Two 
men  came  out  in  close  converse,  and  stood  a  mo- 
ment looking  up  as  if  speaking  of  the  weather. 
They  separated  then,  and  one  who  even  by  that 
uncertain  light  could  be  seen  to  be  a  man  of  tall, 
spare  presence,  came  across  the  open  space  to- 
wards the  end  of  the  Rue  des  Fosses,  which  passed 
beside  the  cloisters.  He  had  just  entered  the 
street,  when  Bazan,  who  had  been  closely  watch- 
ing his  movements,  stepped  from  the  shadow  of 
the  houses  and  touched  his  sleeve. 

The  tall  man  recoiled  sharply  as  he  turned.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  his  sword  and  partly  drew  it. 
"Who  are  you?"  he  said,  trying  in  the  darkness 
to  make  out  the  other's  features. 

"  M.  de  Crillon,  is  it  not?"  the  young  man  asked. 

"Yes.    And  you,  young  sir?" 

"My  name  is  Claude  de  Bazan,  but  you  do  not 
know  me.  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you," 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  63 

"You  have  chosen  an  odd  time,  my  friend." 

"Some  things  are  always  timely,"  the  3roung 
fellow  answered,  the  excitement  under  which  he 
laboured  and  the  occasion  imparting  a  spice  of 
flippancy  to  his  tone.  "I  come  to  warn  you  that 
your  life  is  in  danger.  Do  not  go  alone,  M.  de 
Crillon,  or  pass  this  way  at  night!  And  what- 
ever you  do,  walk  for  the  future  in  the  middle  of 
the  street!" 

"For  the  warning  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  the 
tall  man  answered,  his  voice  cool  and  satirical, 
while  his  eyes  continued  to  scan  the  other's  fea- 
tures. "But,  I  say  again,  you  have  chosen  a 
strange  time  to  give  it,  young  sir.  Moreover, 
your  name  is  new  to  me,  and  I  do  not  know  your 
face." 

"Nor  need  you,"  said  Bazan. 

"Ay,  but  I  think  I  need,  craving  your  pardon," 
replied  the  tall,  spare  man  with  some  sternness. 
"I  am  not  wont  to  be  scared  by  little  things,  nor 
will  I  give  any  man  the  right  to  say  that  he  has 
frightened  me  with  a  lighted  turnip." 

"Will  it  convince  you  if  I  tell  you  that  I  came 
hitherto  kill  you?"  the  young  man  cried  impetu- 
ously. 

"Yes,  if  you  will  say  also  why  you  did  not— at 
least  try?"  Crillon  answered  drily. 

Bazan  had  not  meant  to  explain  himself ;  he  had 
proposed  to  give  his  warning,  and  to  go.  But  on 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  carried  away  by  his 


64  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

excitement,  he  spoke,  and  told  the  story,  and 
Crillon,  after  leading  him  aside,  so  that  a  build- 
ing sheltered  them  from  the  rain,  listened.  He 
listened,  who  knew  all  the  dark  plans,  all  the 
scandals,  all  the  jealousies,  all  the  vile  or  frantic 
schemings  of  a  court,  that,  half  French,  half  Ital- 
ian, mingled  so  grimly  force  and  fraud.  Nay, 
when  all  was  told,  when  Bazan,  passing  lightly 
over  the  resolution  he  had  formed  to  warn  the 
victim  instead  of  attacking  him,  came  suddenly 
and  lamely  to  a  stop,  he  still  for  a  time  stood 
silent.  At  last,  "And  what  will  you  do  now,  my 
friend?"  he  asked. 

"Go  back,"  the  young  man  answered. 

"And  then?" 

"Pay  my  debt." 

The  courtier  swore  a  great  oath— it  was  his  fail- 
ing— and  with  sudden  violence  he  seized  his  com- 
panion by  the  arm,  and  hurried  him  into  the 
roadway,  and  along  the  street.  "To  Simon's!" 
he  muttered.  "  To  Simon's,  my  friend.  I  know  the 
place.  I  will  cut  that  villain  Berthaud's  throat." 

"But  what  shall  I  be  the  better  of  that?"  the 
young  man  answered,  somewhat  bitterly.  "  I  have 
none  the  less  lost,  and  must  pay." 

Crillon  stopped  short,  the  darkness  hiding  alike 
his  face  and  his  feelings.  "So!"  he  said  slowly, 
"I  did  not  think  of  that !  No,  I  did  not  think  of 
that.  But  do  you  mean  it?  What,  if  I  kill  him?" 

"I  have  played  for  my  life,  and  lost,"  Bazan  an- 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  65 

swered  proudly.  "  I  promised,  and  I  am  a  gentle- 
man." 

"Pheugh!"  Crillon  whistled.  He  swore  again, 
and  stood.  He  was  a  great  man,  and  full  of  ex- 
pedients, but  the  position  was  novel.  Yet,  after 
a  minute's  thought,  he  had  an  idea.  He  started 
off  again,  taking  Bazan's  arm,  and  impelling  him 
onwards,  with  the  same  haste  and  violence.  "  To 
Simon's !  to  Simon's  ! "  he  cried  as  before.  "  Cour- 
age, my  friend,  I  will  play  him  for  you  and  win 
you :  I  will  redeem  you.  After  all,  it  is  simple, 
absolutely  simple." 

"He  will  not  play  for  me,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered despondently.  Nevertheless  he  suffered  him- 
self to  be  borne  onwards.  "What  will  you  set 
against  me?" 

"Anything,  everything!"  his  new  friend  cried 
recklessly.  "  Myself,  if  necessary.  Courage,  M.  de 
Bazan,  courage !  What  Crillon  wills,  Crillon  does. 
You  do  not  know  me  yet,  but  I  have  taken  a 
fancy  to  you,  I  have!"— He  swore  a  grisly  oath. 
"And  I  will  make  you  mine." 

He  gave  the  young  man  no  time  for  further  ob- 
jection, but,  holding  him  firmly  by  the  arm,  he 
hurried  him  through  the  streets  to  the  door  be- 
low the  two  gables.  On  this  he  knocked  with  the 
air  of  one  who  had  been  there  before,  and  to 
whom  all  doors  opened.  In  the  momentary  pause 
before  it  yielded  Bazan  spoke.  "Will  you  not  be 
in  danger  here?"  he  asked,  wondering  much. 


66  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"It  is  a  Guise  house?  True,  it  is.  But  there  is 
danger  everywhere.  No  man  dies  more  than  once 
or  before  God  wills  it!  And  I  am  Crillon!" 

The  superb  air  with  which  he  said  this  last  pre- 
pared Bazan  for  what  followed.  The  moment  the 
door  was  opened,  Crillon  pushed  through  the  door- 
way, and  with  an  assured  step  strode  down  the 
passage.  He  turned  the  corner  of  the  screen  and 
stood  in  the  room;  and,  calmly  smiling  at  the 
group  of  startled,  astonished  faces  which  were 
turned  on  him,  he  drew  off  his  cloak  and  flung  it 
over  his  left  arm.  His  height  at  all  times  made 
him  a  conspicuous  figure ;  this  night  he  was  fresh 
from  court.  He  wore  black  and  silver,  the  hilt  of 
his  long  sword  was  jewelled,  the  Order  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  glittered  on  his  breast ;  and  this  fine  array 
seemed  to  render  more  shabby  the  pretentious 
finery  of  the  third-rate  adventurers  before  him. 
He  saluted  them  coolly.  "It  is  a  wet  night,  gen- 
tlemen," he  said. 

Some  of  those  who  sat  farthest  off  had  risen,  and 
all  had  drawn  together  as  sheep  club  at  sight  of 
the  wolf.  One  of  them  answered  sullenly  that  it 
was. 

"You  think  I  intrude,  gentlemen?"  he  returned, 
smiling  pleasantly,  drinking  in  as  homage  the  stir 
his  entrance  had  caused.  For  he  was  vain.  "I 
want  only  an  old  friend,  M.  Michel  Berthaud, 
who  is  here,  I  think?" 

"An.d  for  what  do  you  want  him?"  the  tall 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  67 

dark  player  answered  defiantly ;  he  alone  of  those 
present  seemed  in  a  degree  a  match  for  the  new- 
comer, though  even  his  gloomy  eyes  fell  before 
Crillon's  easy  stare.  "For  what  do  you  want 
me?" 

"To  propose  a  little  game  to  you,"  Crillon  an- 
swered :  and  he  moved  down  the  room,  apparently 
at  his  ease.  "My  friend  here  has  told  me  of  his 
ill-luck.  He  is  resolved  to  perform  his  bargain. 
But  first,  M.  Berthaud,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make 
to  you.  His  life  is  yours.  You  have  won  it. 
Well,  I  will  set  you  five  hundred  crowns  against 
it." 

The  scowl  on  Berthaud's  face  did  not  relax. 
"No,"  he  said  contemptuously.  "I  will  not  play 
with  you,  M.  de  Crillon.  Let  the  fool  die.  What 
is  he  to  you?" 

"Nothing,  and  yet  I  have  a  fancy  to  win  him," 
Crillon  replied  lightly.  "Come,  I  will  stake  a 
thousand  crowns  against  him !  A  thousand 
crowns  for  a  life!  Mon  Diev,"  he  added,  with  a 
whimsical  glance  at  Bazan,  "but  you  are  dear, 
my  friend!" 

Indeed,  half  a  score  of  faces  shone  with  cupid- 
ity, and  twice  as  many  bearded  lips  watered.  A 
thousand  crowns  !  A  whole  thousand  crowns  ! 
But  to  the  surprise  of  most — a  few  knew  their 
man— Berthaud  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  play!  I  won  his 
life,  and  I  will  have  it." 


68  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Fifteen  hundred  crowns.  I  will  set  that!  Fif- 
teen  " 

"No!" 

"  Two  thousand,  then  !  Two  thousand,  man ! 
And  I  will  throw  in  my  chain.  It  is  worth  five 
hundred  more." 

"No!     No!     No!" 

"Then,  say  what  you  will  play  for!"  the  great 
man  roared,  his  face  swelling  with  rage.  "Thou- 
sand devils  and  all  tonsured !  I  have  a  mind  to 
win  his  life.  What  will  you  have  against  it?" 

"Against  it?" 

"Ay!" 

"Yours!"  said  M.  Berthaud,  very  softly. 

Bazan  drew  in  his  breath— sharply :  otherwise 
the  silence  was  so  intense  that  the  fall  of  the  wood- 
ashes  from  the  dying  fire  could  be  heard.  The 
immense,  the  boundless  audacity  of  the  proposal 
made  some  smile  and  some  start.  But  none 
smiled  so  grimly  as  M.  Michel  Berthaud  the 
challenger  and  none  started  so  little  as  M.  de 
Crillon,  the  challenged. 

"A  high  bid!"  he  said,  lifting  his  chin  with 
something  almost  of  humour;  and  then  glancing 
round  him,  as  a  wolf  might  glance,  if  the  sheep 
turned  on  him.  "You  ask  much,  M.  Berthaud." 

"I  will  ask  less  then,"  replied  Berthaud,  with 
irony.  "If  I  win,  I  will  give  you  his  life.  He  shall 
go  free  whether  you  win  or  lose,  M.  de  Crillon." 

"  That  is  much ! "  with  answering  irony. 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  69 

"Much  or  little " 

"It  is  understood?" 

"It  is,"  Berthaud  rejoined  with  a  sarcastic  bow. 

"Then  I  accept!"  Crillon  cried:  and  with  a 
movement  so  brisk  that  some  recoiled,  he  sat 
down  at  the  table.  "I  accept.  Silence!"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  sharply  upon  Bazan,  whose  cry  of 
remonstrance  rang  above  the  astonished  murmur 
of  the  bystanders.  "Silence,  fool!"  He  struck 
the  table.  "It  is  my  will.  Fear  nothing!  I  am 
Crillon,  and  I  do  not  lose." 

There  was  a  superb  self-confidence  in  the  man, 
an  arrogance,  a  courage,  which  more  than  any- 
thing else  persuaded  his  hearers  that  he  was  hi 
earnest,  that  he  was  not  jesting  with  them. 

" The  terms  are  quite  understood, "he  proceeded, 
grimly.  "If  I  win,  we  go  free,  M.  Berthaud.  If 
I  lose,  M.  de  Bazan  goes  free,  and  I  undertake  on 
the  honor  of  a  nobleman  to  kill  myself  before  day- 
light. Shall  I  say  within  six  hours?  I  have  af- 
fairs to  settle!" 

Probably  no  one  in  the  room  felt  astonishment 
equal  to  that  of  Berthaud.  A  faint  colour  tinged 
his  sallow  cheeks;  a  fierce  gleam  of  joy  flashed  in 
his  eyes.  But  all  he  said  was,  "Yes,  I  am  satis- 
fied." 

"Then  throw!"  said  Crillon,  and  leaning  for- 
ward he  took  a  candle  from  a  neighbouring  table, 
and  placed  it  beside  him.  "My  friend,"  he  added, 
speaking  to  Bazan  with  earnest  gravity,  "  I  ad- 


70  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

vise  you  to  be  quiet.    If  you  do   not  we  shall 
quarrel." 

His  smile  was  as  easy,  his  manner  as  unem- 
barrassed, his  voice  as  steady,  as  when  he  had 
entered  the  room.  The  old  gamesters  who  stood 
round  the  table,  and  had  seen,  with  interest  in- 
deed and  some  pity,  but  with  no  great  emotion, 
a  man  play  his  last  stake,  saw  this,  saw  a  man 
stake  his  life  for  a  whim,  with  very  different  feel- 
ings ;  with  astonishment,  with  admiration,  with  a 
sense  of  inferiority  that  did  not  so  much  gall 
their  pride  as  awaken  their  interest.  For  the  mo- 
ment, the  man  who  was  above  death,  who  risked 
it  for  a  fancy,  a  trifle,  a  momentary  gratification, 
was  a  demigod.  "  Throw ! "  repeated  Crillon,  heed- 
less and  apparently  unconscious  of  the  stir  round 
him  :  "  Throw !  but  beware  of  that  candle !  Your 
sleeve  is  in  it." 

It  was;  it  was  singeing.  Berthaud  moved  the 
candle,  and  as  if  his  enemy's  sang  froid  wounded 
him,  he  threw  savagely,  dashing  down  the  dice  on 
the  table,  and  lifting  the  box  with  a  gesture  of 
defiance.  He  swore  a  frightful  oath :  his  face  was 
livid.  He  had  thrown  aces  only. 

"So!"  murmured  his  opponent  quietly.  "Is 
that  all?  A  thousand  crowns  to  a  hundred  that 
I  better  that !  Five  hundred  to  a  hundred  that 
I  double  it !  Will  no  one  take  me?  Then  I  throw. 
Courage,  my  friend.  I  am  Crillon!" 

He  threw;  an  ace  and  a  deuce. 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  71 

"I  waste  nothing,"  he  said. 

But  few  heard  the  words— his  opponent  per- 
haps and  one  or  two  others ;  for  from  end  to  end 
the  room  rang  and  the  oaken  rafters  shook  with 
a  great  cry  of  "  Long  live  Crillon !  the  brave 
Crillon ! "  —  a  cry  which  rose  from  a  score  of 
throats.  Then  and  onwards  till  the  day  of  his 
death,  many  years  later,  he  was  known  through- 
out France  by  no  other  name.  The  great  king's 
letter  to  him,  "Hang  yourself,  brave  Crillon.  We 
have  fought  to-day,  and  you  were  not  there!"  is 
not  yet  forgotten — nay,  never  will  be  forgotten — 
hi  a  land  where,  more  than  in  any  other,  the 
memories  of  the  past  have  been  swept  away. 

He  rose  from  the  table,  bowing  grandly,  superb- 
ly, arrogantly.  "  Adieu,  M.  Berthaud — for  the  pres- 
ent," he  said;  and  had  he  not  seemed  too  proud 
to  threaten,  a  threat  might  have  underlain  his 
words.  "Adieu,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  throw- 
ing on  his  cloak.  "A  good  night  to  you,  and 
equal  fortune.  M.  de  Bazan,  I  will  trouble  you  to 
accompany  me?  You  have  exchanged,  let  me  tell 
you,  one  taskmaster  for  another." 

The  young  man's  heart  was  too  full  for  words, 
and  making  no  attempt  to  speak,  or  to  thank  his 
benefactor,  before  those  who  had  seen  the  deed,  he 
followed  him  from  the  room.  Crillon  did  not  speak 
or  halt  until  they  stood  in  the  Rue  des  Fosses; 
nor  even  there,  for  after  a  momentary  hesitation 
he  passed  through  it,  and  led  the  way  to  the  mid- 


72  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

die  of  the  open  space  before  the  Louvre.  Here  he 
stopped,  and  touched  his  companion  on  the 
breast.  "Now,"  he  said,  "we  can  speak  with  free- 
dom, my  friend.  You  wish  to  thank  me?  Do  not. 
Listen  to  me  instead.  I  have  saved  your  life,  ay, 
that  have  I;  but  I  hold  it  at  my  will?  Say,  is  it 
not  so?  Well,  I,  too,  in  my  turn  wish  you  to  do 
something  for  me." 

"  Anything !"  said  the  young  man,  passionately. 
The  sight  of  the  other's  strange  daring  had  stirred 
his  untried  nature  to  its  depths.  "You  have  but 
to  ask  and  have." 

"Very  well,"  Crillon  answered,  gravely,  "be  it 
so.  I  take  you  at  your  word.  Though,  mind  you, 
M.  de  Bazan,  'tis  no  light  thing  I  ask.  It  is  some- 
thing," pausing,  "from  which  I  shrink  myself." 

"Then  it  is  nothing  you  ask  me  to  do,"  Bazan 
answered. 

"  Not  so,"  the  courtier  replied,  though  he  looked 
far  from  ill-pleased  by  the  compliment.  "Listen. 
To-morrow  the  king  sups  at  the  house  of  Madame 
de  Sauves.  I  shall  be  with  him.  Her  house  is  in 
the  Rue  de  1'Arbre  Sec,  two  doors  from  the  con- 
vent. Here  are  a  hundred  crowns.  Dress  your- 
self so  that  you  may  appear  as  one  of  my  gen- 
tlemen, and  wait  near  the  gates  till  I  come.  Then 
follow  me  in,  and  at  supper  stand  behind  my 
chair,  as  the  others  of  my  suite  will  stand." 

"And  is  that  all?"  Bazan  asked  in  astonish- 
ment. 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  73 

"No,  not  quite,"  Crillon  answered  dryly.  "The 
rest  I  will  whisper  in  your  ear  as  I  pass.  Only 
do  what  I  bid  you  boldly  and  faithfully,  my  friend, 
and  afterwards,  if  all  be  well,  I  will  not  forget 
you." 

"I  am  yours !  Do  with  me  as  you  will ! "  Bazan 
protested. 

But  to  mortals  the  unknown  is  ever  terrible; 
and  for  twenty-four  hours  Bazan  had  the  unknown 
before  him.  What  could  that  be  from  which  Cril- 
lon himself  said  that  he  shrank — a  man  so  brave? 
It  could  not  be  death,  for  that  he  had  risked  on 
the  lightest,  the  flimsiest,  the  most  fantastic  prov- 
ocation. Then  what  could  it  be?  Bazan  turned 
the  question  in  his  mind,  turned  it  a  hundred 
times  that  night,  turned  it  a  hundred  times  as  he 
went  about  his  preparations  next  day.  Turned  it 
and  turned  it,  but  instinctively,  though  no  injunc- 
tions to  that  effect  had  been  given  him,  took  care 
to  show  himself  as  little  as  possible  in  public,  and 
especially  to  shun  all  places  where  he  might  meet 
those  who  had  been  present  at  that  strange  game 
at  Simon's. 

A  quarter  before  nine  on  the  next  evening,  saw 
him  waiting  with  a  beating  heart  outside  the 
house  in  the  Rue  de  1'Arbre  Sec.  He  formed  one  of 
a  crowd  of  lackeys,  and  linkboys,  citizens,  ap- 
prentices, and  chance  passers  who  had  been  at- 
tracted to  the  spot  by  the  lights  and  by  the 
guards  in  the  royal  livery,  who  already,  though 


74  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  king  was  not  come,  kept  the  entrance  to  the 
courtyard.  Bazan  pushed  himself  with  some  diffi- 
culty into  the  front  rank,  and  there  waited,  scan- 
ning with  feverish  eagerness  every  one  who  en- 
tered. 

Time  passed,  and  no  Crillon  appeared,  though 
presently  a  great  shouting  along  the  street  pro- 
claimed the  approach  of  the  Duke  of  Guise,  and 
that  nobleman  passed  slowly  in,  noting  with  a 
falcon's  eye  the  faces  of  the  bowing  throng.  He 
was  a  man  of  grand  height  and  imperial  front — 
a  great  scar  seeming  to  make  the  latter  more  for- 
midable—his smile  a  trifle  supercilious,  his  eyes 
somewhat  near  one  another ;  and  under  his  glance 
Bazan  felt  for  the  moment  small  and  mean.  A 
little  later,  from  the  talk  of  those  about  him,  the 
young  man  learned  that  the  king  was  drawing 
near,  and  Henry's  coach,  surrounded  by  a  dozen 
of  the  Forty-five,  lumbered  along  the  street.  It 
was  greeted  with  comparative  coldness,  only  those 
who  stood  under  the  guards'  eyes  performing  a 
careless  salute. 

Bazan  was  no  Parisian,  though  for  the  present 
in  Paris,  and  no  Leaguer,  though  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic ;  and  he  forgot  his  present  errand  in  the  excite- 
ment of  his  rustic  loyalty.  Raising  his  bonnet,  he 
cried  loudly  Vive  le  Roi! — cried  it  more  than  once. 
There  were  six  in  the  coach,  but  Henry,  whose 
pale  meagre  face  with  its  almond  eyes  and  scanty 
beard  permitted  no  mistake,  remarked  the  saluta- 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  75 

tion  and  the  giver,  and  his  look  cast  the  young 
man  into  a  confusion  which  nearly  cost  him 
dearly ;  for  it  was  only  as  the  guards  closed  round 
the  coach  that  he  perceived  Crillon  sitting  in  the 
nearer  boot.  The  moment  he  did  see  him  he 
pushed  forward  among  the  running  footmen  who 
followed  the  coach,  and  succeeded  in  entering  with 
it. 

The  courtyard,  crowded  with  gentlemen,  lackeys 
and  torch-bearers,  was  a  scene  of  great  confusion, 
and  Bazan  had  no  difficulty  in  approaching  Cril- 
lon and  exchanging  a  sentence  with  him.  That 
effected,  so  completely  was  he  confounded  by  the 
order  whispered  in  his  ear,  that  he  observed  noth- 
ing more  until  he  found  himself  in  a  long  gallery, 
waiting  with  many  others  attached  to  the  great 
men's  suites,  while  the  magnificoes  themselves 
talked  together  at  the  upper  end.  By  listening  to 
the  gossip  round  him,  he  learned  that  one  dark 
handsome  man  among  the  latter  was  Alphonso 
d'Ornano,  often  called  the  Corsican  Captain.  A 
second  was  M.  d'O,  the  Governor  of  Paris;  a 
third,  the  Count  of  Soissons.  But  he  had  scarcely 
time  to  note  these,  or  the  novel  and  splendid  scene 
in  which  he  stood,  before  the  double  doors  at  the 
end  of  the  gallery  were  thrown  widely  open,  and 
amid  a  sudden  hush  the  great  courtiers  passed 
into  the  supper  room  in  which  the  king,  the  Duke 
of  Guise,  and  several  ladies,  already  stood  or  sat 
in  their  places,  having  entered  by  another  door. 


76  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Bazan  pressed  in  with  the  flock  of  attendant 
gentlemen,  and  seeing  Crillon  preparing  to  sit 
down  not  far  from  the  dais  and  canopy  which 
marked  the  king's  chair,  he  took  his  stand  against 
the  wall  behind  him. 

If  the  words  which  Crillon  had  dropped  into  his 
ear  had  not  occupied  three-fourths  of  his  thoughts, 
Bazan  would  have  felt  a  keener  admiration  of  the 
scene  before  him ;  which,  as  was  natural,  surpassed 
in  luxury  anything  the  country  lad  had  ever  im- 
agined. The  room,  panelled  and  ceiled  with  cedar, 
was  hung  with  blue  velvet  and  lighted  by  a  hun- 
dred tapers.  The  table  gleamed  with  fine  napery 
and  gold  plate,  with  Palissy  ware  and  Cellini 
vases ;  and  these,  with  the  rich  dresses  and  jewels 
and  fair  shoulders  of  the  ladies,  combined  to  form 
a  beautiful  interior  which  resounded  with  the  bab- 
ble of  talk  and  laughter.  It  was  hard  to  detect 
danger  lurking  under  these  things,  under  the  silk, 
within  the  flashing,  gleaming  cups,  behind  smiling 
eyes;  still  harder  to  discern  below  these  fair  ap- 
pearances a  peril  from  which  a  Crillon  shrank. 

But  to  Bazan,  as  he  waited  with  tortured  nerves, 
these  things  were  nothing.  They  were  no  more 
than  fair  flowers  to  the  man  who  espies  the  coils 
of  a  snake  among  the  blossoms.  Crillon's  whisper 
had  revealed  all  to  him— all,  hi  one  brief  sentence ; 
so  that  when  he  presently  recognized  Michel  Ber- 
thaud  standing  near  the  upper  end  of  the  table  and 
on  the  farther  side  of  it,  in  attendance  upon  the 


CKILLON'S  STAKE  77 

Duke  of  Guise,  he  felt  no  astonishment,  but  only 
a  shrewd  suspicion  of  the  quarter  from  which  the 
danger  might  be  expected. 

The  king,  a  man  of  thirty-seven,  so  effeminate  in 
appearance  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  he  had  seen 
famous  fields  and  once  bidden  fair  to  be  a  great 
Captain,  was  nursing  a  dog  on  his  lap,  the  while 
he  listened  with  a  weary  air  to  the  whispers  of  the 
beautiful  woman  who  sat  next  him.  Apparently 
he  had  a  niggard  ear  even  for  her  witcheries,  and 
little  appetite  save  for  the  wine  flask.  Lassitude 
lived  in  his  eyes,  his  long  thin  fingers  trembled. 
Bazan  watched  him  drain  his  goblet  of  wine,  al- 
most as  soon  as  he  sat  down,  and  watched  him, 
too,  hold  out  the  gold  cup  to  be  filled  again.  The 
task  was  performed  by  an  assiduous  hand,  and  for 
a  moment  the  king  poised  the  cup  in  his  fingers, 
speaking  to  his  neighbour  the  while.  Then  he  laid 
it  down,  but  his  hand  did  not  quit  its  neighbour- 
hood. 

The  next  moment  the  room  rang  with  a  cry  of 
alarm  and  indignation,  and  every  face  was  turned 
one  way.  Bazan  with  unparalleled  audacity  had 
stepped  forward,  had  seized  the  sacred  cup  almost 
from  the  royal  hand,  and  drained  it ! 

While  some  sprang  from  their  seats,  two  or  three 
seized  the  culprit  and  held  him  fast.  One  more 
enthusiastic  than  the  others  or  more  keenly  sensi- 
tive to  the  outrage  of  which  he  had  been  guilty, 
aimed  a  fierce  blow  at  his  breast  with  a  poniard. 


78  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

The  stroke  was  well  meant,  nay,  was  well  directed ; 
but  it  was  adroitly  intercepted  by  M.  de  Crillon, 
who  had  been  among  the  first  to  rise.  With  a 
blow  of  his  sheathed  sword  he  sent  the  dagger 
spinning  towards  the  ceiling. 

"Back  !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  placing 
himself  before  the  culprit.  "  Stand  back,  I  say !  I 
will  answer  to  the  king  for  all!" 

He  cleared  a  space  before  him  with  his  scabbard, 
and  a  quick  signal  brought  to  his  side  the  two 
guards  at  the  nearest  door,  who  were  men  of  his 
command.  These,  crossing  their  pikes  before  the 
prisoner,  secured  him  from  immediate  attack.  By 
this  time  all  in  the  room  had  risen  save  the  king, 
who  appeared  less  moved  than  any  by  the  inci- 
dent. At  this  point  he  raised  his  hand  to  procure 
silence. 

"Is  he  mad?"  he  asked  calmly.  "What  is  it, 
Crillon?" 

"I  will  satisfy  your  Grace,"  the  courtier  an- 
swered. But  the  next  moment,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone,  he  cried  loudly  and  rapidly,  "  Stop 
that  man,  I  beg  you,  d'Ornano  !  Stop  him  ! " 

The  warning  came  too  late.  The  Corsican 
sprang  indeed  to  the  door,  but  the  crowd  impeded 
him;  and  the  man  to  whom  Crillon  referred— the 
same  who  had  struck  at  Bazan,  and  who  was  no 
other  than  Berthaud— got  to  it  Urst,  slipped  out 
and  was  gone  from  sight,  before  those  near  the  en- 
trance had  recovered  from  their  surprise. 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  79 

"Follow  him,"  Crillon  cried  loudly.  "Seize  him 
at  all  hazards  !  Mort  de  Dieu  !  He  has  outwitted 
us  at  last." 

"His  Majesty  has  asked,  M.  de  Crillon,"  said 
one  at  the  table,  speaking  in  the  haughty,  imperi- 
ous tone  of  a  man  who  never  spoke  unheeded, 
"what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  Perhaps  you 
will  kindly  satisfy  him." 

"I  will  satisfy  him,"  Crillon  answered,  grimly 
fixing  his  eyes  on  the  other's  handsome  face. 
"And  you,  too,  M.  de  Guise.  An  attempt  has 
been  made  to  poison  my  master.  This  young 
man,  observing  that  a  strange  hand  poured  the 
king's  wine,  has  saved  his  Majesty's  life  by  taking 
the  poison  himself!" 

Henry  of  Guise  laughed  scornfully.  "A  likely 
story !"  he  said. 

"  And  in  my  house ! "  Madame  de  Sauves  cried  in 
the  same  tone.  "  His  Majesty  will  not  believe  that 
I " 

"I  said  nothing  against  Madame  de  Sauves," 
Crillon  answered,  with  firmness.  "For  the  rest, 
let  the  king  be  judge.  The  issue  is  simple.  If  the 
lad  go  scatheless,  there  was  no  poison  in  that  cup 
and  I  am  a  liar.  If  he  suffer,  then  let  the  king 
say  who  lies!" 

A  close  observer  might  have  seen  an  uneasy  ex- 
pression flit  across  more  than  one  face,  darken 
more  than  one  pair  of  eyes.  Crillon  remained  on 
his  guard  facing  the  table,  his  eyes  keenly  vigilant. 


80  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

The  Count  of  Soissons,  one  of  the  younger  Bour- 
bons, had  already  stepped  to  the  king's  side  and 
taken  place  by  his  chair,  his  hand  on  his  hilt. 
D'Ornano,  who  had  despatched  two  guards  after 
Berthaud,  openly  drew  his  long  sword  and  placed 
himself  on  the  other  side  of  the  dais.  Nor  was  sus- 
picion confined  to  their  party.  Half  a  dozen  gen- 
tlemen had  risen  to  their  feet  about  the  Duke  of 
Guise,  who  continued  to  sit  with  folded  arms,  con- 
tent to  smile.  He  was  aware  that  at  the  worst 
here  in  Paris  he  was  safe ;  perhaps  he  was  innocent 
of  harm  or  intent. 

The  main  effect,  however,  of  Crillon's  last  words 
was  to  draw  many  eyes,  and  amongst  them  the 
king's,  to  the  prisoner's  face.  Bazan  was  leaning 
against  the  wall,  the  cup  still  in  his  grasp.  As 
they  turned  with  a  single  movement  towards  him, 
his  face  began  to  grow  a  shade  paler,  a  spasm 
moved  his  lips,  and  after  the  interval  of  a  moment 
the  cup  fell  from  his  hand  to  the  ground.  Thrust- 
ing himself  with  a  convulsive  movement  from  the 
wall,  he  put  out  his  hands  and  groped  with  them 
as  if  he  could  no  longer  see;  until,  one  of  them 
meeting  the  pike  of  the  nearest  guard,  he  tried  to 
support  himself  by  this.  At  the  same  time  he 
muttered  hoarsely,  "M.  de  Crillon,  you  saw  it! 
We  are — we  are  quits ! " 

He  would  have  fallen  on  that,  but  the  men 
caught  him  in  their  arms  and  held  him  up,  amid  a 
murmur  of  horror;  to  many  brave  men  death  in 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  81 

this  special  form  is  appalling.  Here  and  there  a 
woman  shrieked;  one  fainted.  Meanwhile,  the 
young  man's  face  was  becoming  livid;  his  neck 
seemed  to  stiffen,  his  eyes  to  protrude.  The  king 
looked  at  him  and  shuddered.  "Saint  Denis  !"  he 
muttered,  the  perspiration  standing  on  his  brow, 
"  what  an  escape !  What  an  escape !  Can  nothing 
be  done  for  him?" 

"I  will  try,  Sire,"  Crillon  answered,  abandoning 
for  the  first  time  his  attitude  of  watchfulness. 
Drawing  a  small  phial  from  his  pocket,  he  directed 
one  of  the  guards  to  force  open  the  lad's  teeth, 
and  then  himself  poured  the  contents  of  the  bottle 
between  them. 

"Good  lad,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "he  has 
drained  the  cup.  I  bade  him  drink  only  half.  It 
would  have  been  enough.  But  he  is  young  and 
strong.  He  may  surmount  it." 

The  rest  looked  on,  some  in  curiosity,  some  in 
pity,  some  in  secret  apprehension.  It  was  the 
Duke  of  Guise  who  put  into  words  the  thoughts  of 
many.  "Those,"  he  said  scornfully,  "who  find 
the  antidote,  may  know  the  poison,  M.  de  Cril- 
lon." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Duke?"  Crillon  replied 
passionately,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  "That  I 
was  in  this?  That  I  know  more  than  I  have  told 
of  it?  If  so,  you  lie,  sir;  and  you  know  it!" 

"I  know  it?"  the  Duke  cried,  his  eyes  aflame,  his 
cheeks  reddening.  Never  had  he  heard  such  words. 


82  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"  Do  you  dare  to  insinuate — that  I  know  more  of 
this  plot  than  yourself— if  plot  there  be?" 

"Enough  !"  said  the  king,  rising  in  great  haste, 
and  with  a  face  which  betrayed  his  emotion.  "Si- 
lence, gentlemen !  silence !  And  you,  my  cousin, 
not  another  word,  I  command  you  !  Who  poured 
out  the  wine?" 

"A  villain  called  Berthaud,"  Crillon  answered 
promptly  and  fiercely,  "who  was  in  attendance 
upon  the  Duke  of  Guise." 

"He  was  not  in  attendance  on  me!"  the  duke 
answered,  with  spirit. 

"Then  on  Madame  de  Sauves." 

"I  know  nothing  of  him!"  cried  that  lady, 
hysterically.  "I  never  spoke  to  the  man  in  my 
life.  I  do  not  know  him!" 

"Enough  !"  the  king  said  with  decision;  but  the 
gloom  on  his  brow  grew  darker.  "Enough.  Until 
Berthaud  is  found,  let  no  more  be  said.  Cousin," 
he  continued  to  the  Count  of  Soissons,  "you  will 
see  us  home.  D'Ornano,  we  return  at  once,  and 
you  will  accompany  us.  For  M.  de  Crillon,  we 
commit  to  him  the  care  of  this  young  man,  to 
whom  we  appear  to  be  indebted,  and  whose 
thought  for  us  we  shall  not  forget.  Madame,  I 
kiss  your  hand." 

Guise's  salutation  he  acknowledged  only  by  a 
grave  bow.  The  last  of  the  Valois  could  at  times 
exert  himself,  could  at  times  play  again  the  hero 
of  Jarnac  and  Montcontour,  could  even  assume  a 


CEILLON'S  STAKE  83 

dignity  no  whit  less  than  that  of  Guise.  As  he 
retired  all  bowed  low  to  him,  and  the  greater  part 
of  the  assemblage — even  those  who  had  not  at- 
tended him  to  the  house— left  in  his  train.  In 
three  minutes  Crillon,  a  couple  of  inferior  officers, 
and  a  handful  of  guards  alone  remained  round  the 
young  man. 

"He  will  recover,"  Crillon  said,  speaking  to  the 
officer  next  him.  "  He  is  young,  and  they  did  not 
dare  to  make  the  dose  too  strong.  We  shall  not, 
however,  convict  any  one  now,  unless  Berthaud 
speaks." 

"Berthaud  is  dead." 

"What?" 

"As  dead  as  Clovis,"  the  lieutenant  repeated 
calmly.  "He  is  lying  in  the  passage,  M.  de  Cril- 
lon." 

"Who  killed  him?"  cried  Crillon,  leaping  up  in  a 
rage.  "Who  dared  to  kill  him?  Not  those  fools 
of  guards  when  they  knew  it  was  his  evidence  we 
wanted." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  other  coolly.  "They  found 
him  dead  not  twenty  paces  from  the  house.  He 
was  a  doomed  man  when  he  passed  through  the 
door.  You  understand,  M.  de  Crillon?  He  knew 
too  much  to  live." 

"  Mort  de  Dieu  !  "  cried  Crillon,  raising  his  hands 
in  admiration.  "How  clever  they  are!  Not  a 
thing  forgotten  !  Well,  I  will  to  the  king  and  tell 
him.  It  will  put  him  on  l}is  guard.  If  I  had  not 


84  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

contrived  to  try  the  draught  there  and  then,  I 
could  not  have  convinced  him ;  and  if  I  had  not  by 
a  lucky  hazard  won  this  young  man  last  night,  I 
might  have  whistled  for  one  to  try  it!  But  I 
must  go." 

Yet  he  lingered  a  minute  to  see  how  the  lad 
progressed.  The  convulsions  which  had  for  a  time 
racked  Bazan's  vigorous  frame  had  ceased,  and  a 
profuse  perspiration  was  breaking  out  on  his 
brow. 

"Yes,  he  will  recover,"  said  Crillon  again,  and 
with  greater  confidence. 

As  if  the  words  had  reached  Bazan's  brain,  he 
opened  his  eyes. 

"I  did  it!"  he  muttered.  "I  did  it.  We  are 
quits,  M.  de  Crillon!" 

"Not  so!"  cried  the  other,  stooping  impetu- 
ously and  embracing  him.  "  Not  quits !  The 
balance  is  against  me  now,  but  I  will  redress  it. 
Be  easy;  your  fortune  is  made,  M.  de  Bazan. 
While  James  Berthon  de  Crillon  lives  you  shall  not 
lack  a  friend !" 

He  kept  his  word.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  the  Laurence  de  Bazan  who  held  high  office 
under  the  Minister  Sully,  and  in  particular  rose 
to  be  Deputy  Superintendent  of  the  Finances  in 
Guienne,  was  our  young  Bazan.  This  being  so,  it 
is  clear  that  he  outlived  by  many  years  his  pa- 
tron :  for  Crillon,  "le  brave  Crillon,"  whose  whim 
it  was  to  dare  greatly,  and  on  small  occasion, 


CRILLON'S  STAKE  85 

died  early  in  the  seventeenth  century— in  his  bed— 
and  lies  under  a  famous  stone  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Avignon.  Whereas  we  find  Bazan  still  flourishing, 
and  a  person  of  consequence  at  Court,  when 
Richelieu  came  to  the  height  of  his  power.  Never- 
theless on  him  there  remains  no  stone ;  only  some 
sketch  of  the  above,  and  a  crabbed  note  at  the 
foot  of  a  dusty  page  in  a  dark  library. 


FOR  THE  CAUSE 


PARIS  had  never  seemed  to  the  eye  more  peaceful 
than  on  a  certain  November  evening  in  the  year 
1591 :  and  this  although  many  a  one  within  its 
walls  resented  the  fineness  of  the  night  as  a  mock- 
ery, as  a  scoff  alike  at  the  pain  of  some  and  the 
fury  of  others. 

The  moonlight  fell  on  roofs  and  towers,  on  the 
bare  open  space  of  the  Place  de  Greve,  and  the 
dark  mass  of  the  Louvre,  and  only  here  and  there 
pierced,  by  chance,  a  narrow  lane,  to  gleam  on 
some  foul  secret  of  the  kennel.  The  Seine  lay  a 
silvery  loop  about  the  He  de  la  Cite — a  loop  cut 
on  this  side  and  that  by  the  black  shadows  of  the 
Pont  au  Change,  and  the  Petit  Pont,  and  broken 
again  westward  by  the  outline  of  the  New  Bridge, 
which  was  then  in  building. 

The  city  itself  lay  in  profound  quiet  in  the  depth 
of  the  shadow.  From  time  to  time  at  one  of  the 
gates,  or  in  the  vaulted  lodge  of  the  Chatelet,  a 
sentinel  challenged  or  an  officer  spoke.  But  the 
bell  of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  which  had  rung 
through  hours  of  the  past  day,  was  silent.  The 
tumult  which  had  leaped  like  flame  from  street  to 


FOE  THE  CAUSE  87 

street  had  subsided.  Peaceful  men  breathed  again 
in  their  houses,  and  women,  if  they  still  cowered 
by  the  hearth,  no  longer  laid  trembling  fingers  on 
their  ears.  For  a  time  the  red  fury  was  over :  and 
in  the  narrow  channels,  where  at  noon  the  mob 
had  seethed  and  roared,  scarcely  a  stray  wayfarer 
could  now  be  found. 

A  few  however  were  abroad  :  and  of  these  some, 
who  chanced  to  be  threading  the  network  of 
streets  between  the  Chatelet  and  the  Louvre, 
heard  behind  them  the  footsteps  of  one  in  great 
haste.  Turning,  they  saw  pass  by  them  a  youth, 
wearing  a  sword  and  a  student's  short  cloak  and 
cap — apparently  he  was  a  member  of  the  Univer- 
sity. He  was  pale  of  face,  and  for  his  part  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  left :  saw  not  one  of  them, 
and  seemed  bent  only  on  getting  forward. 

He  slackened  his  pace  however  near  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  de  Tirchape,  where  it  shoots  out  of  the 
Rue  de  Bethisy;  and  then  turning  the  corner  im- 
pulsively, he  caught  his  foot  in  some  obstacle,  and, 
plunging  forward,  would  have  fallen,  if  he  had  not 
come  against  a  man,  who  seemed  to  be  standing 
still  in  the  shadow  of  the  corner  house. 

"  Hold  up  ! "  exclaimed  this  person,  withstanding 
the  shock  better  than  could  have  been  expected, 
for  he  was  neither  tall  nor  bulky.  "You  should 
have  a  pretty  mistress,  young  man,  if  you  go  to 
her  at  this  pace!" 

The  student  did  not  answer— did  not  seem  to 


88  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

hear.  He  staggered  against  the  wall,  and  stood 
propping  himself  up  by  it.  His  face,  pale  before, 
was  ghastly,  as  he  glared,  horror-struck,  at  some- 
thing beyond  the  speaker.  The  latter,  after  mut- 
tering angrily,  "What  the  plague,  then,  do  you 
go  dashing  about  the  streets  like  a  Shrove  Tues- 
day ox  for?"  turned  also  and  glanced  behind  him. 

But  not  at  that  to  which  the  student's  eyes  were 
directed.  The  stranger  seemed  constrained  to 
look  first  and  by  preference  at  the  long,  low  case- 
ment of  a  house  nearly  opposite  them.  This  win- 
dow was  on  the  first  floor,  and  projected  some- 
what over  the  roadway.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
light  in  the  room  within;  but  the  moonlight 
reached  it,  and  showed  a  woman's  head  bent  on 
the  sill— a  girl's  head,  if  one  might  judge  from  its 
wealth  of  hair.  One  white  wrist  gleamed  amid  the 
coil,  but  her  face  was  hidden  on  her  arms  and 
showed  not.  In  the  whole  scene — in  the  casement 
open  at  this  inclement  time,  in  the  girl's  attitude, 
in  her  abandonment,  there  was  something  which 
stirred  the  nerves.  It  was  only  after  a  long  look 
that  the  stranger  averted  his  eyes,  and  cast  a 
casual  glance  at  a  queer,  dark  object,  which  a  few 
paces  away  swung  above  the  street,  dimly  outlined 
against  the  sky.  It  was  clear  that  it  was  that 
which  had  fascinated  his  companion. 

"Umph!"  he  ejaculated  in  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  should  say  "Is  that  all?"  And  he  turned  to 
the  youth  again.  "  You  seem  taken  aback,  young 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  89 

man?"  he  said.  "Surely  that  is  no  such  strange 
sight  in  Paris  nowadays.  What  with  Leaguers 
hanging  Politiques,  and  Politiques  hanging 
Leaguers,  and  both  burning  Huguenots,  I  thought 
a  dead  man  was  no  longer  a  bogey  to  frighten 
children  with!" 

"  Hush,  sir,  in  Heaven's  name ! "  the  young  man 
exclaimed,  shuddering  at  his  words.  And  then, 
with  a  gesture  of  despair,  "He  was  my  father !" 

The  stranger  whistled.  "He  was  your  father, 
was  he!"  he  replied  more  gently.  "I  dare  swear 
too  that  he  was  an  honest  man,  since  the  Sixteen 
have  done  this.  There,  steady,  my  friend.  These 
are  no  times  for  weeping.  Be  thankful  that  Le 
Clerc  and  his  crew  have  spared  your  home,  and 
your— your  sister.  That  is  rare  clemency  in  these 
days,  and  Heaven  only  knows  how  long  it  may 
last.  You  wear  a  sword?  Then  shed  no  tears  to 
rust  it.  Time  enough  to  weep,  man,  when  there  is 
blood  to  be  washed  from  the  blade." 

"You  speak  boldly,"  said  the  youth,  checking 
his  emotion  somewhat,  "but  had  they  hung  your 
father  before  his  own  door " 

"Good  man,"  said  the  stranger  with  a  coolness 
that  bordered  on  the  cynical,  "he  has  been  dead 
these  twenty  years." 

"Then  your  mother?"  the  student  suggested 
with  the  feeble  persistence  by  which  weak  minds 
show  their  consciousness  of  contact  with  stronger 
ones,  "you  had  then " 


90  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Hung  them  all  as  high  as  Haman!" 

"  Ay,  but  suppose  there  were  among  them  some 
you  could  not  hang,"  objected  the  youth,  in  a 
lower  tone,  while  he  eyed  his  companion  narrowly, 
"some  of  the  clergy,  you  understand?" 

"They  had  swung— though  they  had  all  been 
Popes  of  Rome,"  was  the  blunt  answer. 

The  young  man  shook  his  head,  and  drew  off  a 
pace.  He  scanned  the  stranger  curiously,  keeping 
his  back  turned  to  the  corpse  the  while;  but  he 
failed  by  that  light  to  make  out  much  one  way  or 
the  other.  Scarcely  a  moment  too  was  allowed 
him  before  the  murmur  of  voices  and  the  clash  of 
weapons  at  the  farther  end  of  the  street  inter- 
rupted him.  "The  watch  are  coming,"  he  said 
roughly. 

"You  are  right,"  his  companion  assented,  "and 
the  sooner  we  are  within  doors  the  better." 

It  was  noticeable  that  throughout  their  talk 
which  had  lasted  some  minutes  no  sign  of  life  had 
appeared  in  any  of  the  neighbouring  houses. 
Scarce  a  light  shone  from  doorway  or  window 
though  it  was  as  yet  but  nine  o'clock.  In  truth 
fear  of  the  Sixteen  and  of  the  mob  whom  they 
guided  was  overpowering  Paris — was  a  terror 
crushing  out  men's  lives.  While  the  provinces  of 
France  were  divided  between  two  opinions,  and 
half  of  them  owned  the  Huguenot  Henry  the 
Fourth— now  for  two  years  the  rightful  sovereign 
—Paris  would  have  none  of  him.  The  fierce 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  91 

bigotry  of  the  lower  classes,  the  presence  of  some 
thousands  of  Spanish  soldiers,  and  the  ambition 
and  talents  of  the  Guise  family  combined  at  once 
to  keep  the  gates  of  Paris  closed  to  him,  and  to 
overawe  such  of  the  respectable  citizens  as  from 
religious  sympathy  in  rare  cases,  more  often  out 
of  a  desire  to  see  the  re-establishment  of  law  and 
order,  would  have  adopted  his  cause.  The  Poli- 
tiques,  or  moderate  party,  who  were  indifferent 
about  religion  as  such,  but  believed  that  a  strong 
government  could  be  formed  only  by  a  Romanist 
king,  were  almost  non-existent  in  Paris.  And  the 
events  of  the  past  day,  the  murder  of  three  magis- 
trates and  several  lower  officials — among  them 
poor  M.  Portail,  whose  body  now  decorated  the 
Rue  de  Tirchape — had  not  reassured  the  municipal 
mind.  No  wonder  that  men  put  out  their  lights 
early,  and  were  loth  to  go  to  their  windows,  when 
they  might  see  a  few  feet  from  the  casement  the 
swollen  features  of  a  harmless,  honest  man,  but 
yesterday  going  to  and  from  his  work  like  other 
men. 

Young  Portail  stole  to  the  door  of  the  house 
and  knocked  hurriedly.  As  he  did  so,  he  looked, 
with  something  like  a  shiver  of  apprehension,  at 
the  window  above  his  head.  But  the  girl  neither 
moved  nor  spoke,  nor  betrayed  any  consciousness 
of  his  presence.  She  might  have  been  dead.  It 
was  a  young  man,  about  his  own  age  or  a  little 
older,  who,  after  reconnoitring  him  from  above, 


92  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

cautiously  drew  back  the  door.  "  Whom  have  you 
with  you?"  he  whispered,  holding  it  ajar,  and  let- 
ting the  end  of  a  stout  club  be  seen. 

"No  one,"  Portail  replied  in  the  same  cautious 
tone.  And  he  would  have  entered  without  more 
ado,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him  had  not  his 
late  companion,  who  had  followed  him  across  the 
street  like  his  shadow,  set  his  foot  against  it. 
"Nay,  but  you  are  forgetting  me,"  he  said  good- 
humouredly. 

"  Go  your  way !  we  have  enough  to  do  to  pro- 
tect ourselves,"  cried  Portail,  brusquely. 

"  The  more  need  of  me,"  was  the  careless  answer. 

The  watch  w^ere  now  but  a  few  houses  away, 
and  the  stranger  seemed  determined.  He  could 
scarcely  be  kept  out  without  a  disturbance.  With 
an  angry  oath  Felix  Portail  held  the  door  for  him 
to  enter;  and  closed  it  softly  behind  him.  Then 
for  a  minute  or  so  the  three  stood  silent  in  the 
darkness  of  the  damp-smelling  passage,  while  with 
a  murmur  of  voices  and  clash  of  weapons,  and  a 
ruddy  glimmer  piercing  crack  and  keyhole,  the 
guard  swept  by. 

"Have  you  a  light?"  Felix  murmured,  as  the 
noise  began  to  die  away. 

"In  the  back  room,"  replied  the  young  man 
who  had  admitted  them.  He  seemed  to  be  a  clerk 
or  confidential  servant.  "But  your  sister,"  he 
continued,  "is  distraught.  She  has  sat  at  the 
window  all  day  as  you  see  her  now— sometimes 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  93 

looking  at  it.  Oh,  Felix,"  in  a  voice  shaken  by 
tears,  "this  has  been  a  dreadful  day  for  this 
house!" 

The  young  Portail  assented  by  a  groan.  "And 
Susanne?"  he  asked. 

"Is  with  Mistress  Marie,  terrified  almost  to 
death,  poor  child.  She  has  been  crouching  all  day 
beside  her,  hiding  her  face  hi  her  gown.  But 
where  were  you?" 

"At  the  Sorbonne,"  Felix  replied,  in  a  whisper. 

"Ah  !"  the  other  exclaimed,  something  of  hidden 
meaning  in  his  tone.  "I  would  not  tell  her  that, 
if  I  were  you.  I  feared  it  was  so.  But  let  us  go 
upstairs." 

They  went  up ;  the  stranger  following,  with  more 
than  one  stumble  by  the  way.  At  the  head  of  the 
staircase  the  clerk  opened  a  door  and  preceded 
them  into  a  low-roofed  panelled  room,  plainly  but 
solidly  furnished,  and  lighted  by  a  small  hanging 
lamp  of  silver.  A  round  oak  table  on  six  curiously 
turned  legs  stood  in  the  middle,  and  on  it  some 
food  was  laid.  A  high-backed  chair,  before  which 
a  sheep-skin  rug  was  spread,  and  two  or  three 
stools,  made  up,  with  a  great  oak  chest,  the 
furniture  of  the  room. 

The  stranger  turned  from  scrutinizing  his  sur- 
roundings, and  stood  at  gaze.  Another  door  had 
opened  silently;  he  saw  framed  in  the  doorway 
and  relieved  by  the  lamplight  against  the  darkness 
of  the  outer  room  the  face  and  figure  of  a  tall 


94  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

girl;  doubtless  the  one  whom  he  had  seen  at  the 
window.  A  moment  she  stood  pointing  at  them 
with  her  hand,  her  face  white — and  whiter  in  seem- 
ing by  reason  of  the  black  hair  which  fell  round 
it ;  her  eyes  were  dilated,  the  neckband  of  her  dark 
red  gown  was  torn  open  that  she  might  have  air. 
"A  Provengal!"  the  intruder  murmured  to  him- 
self. "Beautiful  and  a  tigress." 

At  any  rate, for  the  moment, beside  herself.  "So 
you  have  come  at  last !"  she  said,  panting,  glaring 
at  Felix  with  scorn,  passionate  scorn  in  word  and 
gesture.  "Where  were  you  while  these  slaves  of 
yours  did  your  bidding?  At  the  Sorbonne  with 
the  black  crows!  Thinking  out  fresh  work  for 
them?  Or  dallying  with  your  Normandy  sweet- 
heart?" 

"Hush !"  he  said,  lowering  his  eyes,  and  visibly 
quailing  before  her.  "  There  is  a  stranger  here." 

"There  have  been  many  strangers  here  to- 
day!" she  retorted  with  undiminished  bitterness. 
"  Hush,  you  say?  Nay,  but  I  will  not  be  silent  for 
you,  for  any !  They  may  tear  me  limb  from  limb, 
but  I  will  accuse  them  of  this  murder  before  God's 
throne.  Coward !  Parricide !  Do  you  think  I 
will  ask  mercy  from  them?  Come,  look  on  your 
work!  See  what  the  League  have  done — your 
holy  League ! —while  you  sat  plotting  with  the 
black  crows!" 

She  pointed  into  the  dark  room  behind  her,  and 
the  movement  disclosed  a  younger  girl  clinging  to 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  95 

her  skirts,  and  weeping  silently.  "Come  here, 
Susanne,"  Felix  said;  he  had  turned  pale  and  red 
and  shifted  from  one  foot  to  another,  under  the 
lash  of  the  elder  girl's  scorn.  "  Your  sister  is  not 
herself.  You  do  no  good,  Marie,  staying  in  there. 
See,  you  are  both  trembling  with  cold." 

"With  cold?"  was  the  fierce  rejoinder.  "Then 
do  you  warm  yourselves !  Sit  down  and  eat  and 
drink  and  be  comfortable  and  forget  him  !  But  I 
will  not  eat  nor  drink  while  he  hangs  there! 
Shame,  Felix  Portail !  Shame !  Have  you  arms 
and  hands,  and  will  let  your  father  hang  before 
his  own  door?" 

Her  voice  rang  shrill  to  the  last  word  audible 
far  down  the  street ;  that  said,  an  awkward  silence 
fell  on  the  room.  The  stranger  nodded  twice, 
almost  as  if  he  said,  "Bravo  !— Bravo."  The  two 
men  of  the  house  cast  doubtful  glances  at  one  an- 
other. At  length  the  clerk  spoke.  "It  is  impossi- 
ble, mistress,"  he  said  gently.  "Were  he  touched, 
the  mob  would  wreck  the  house  to-morrow." 

"A  little  bird  whispered  to  me  as  I  came 
through  the  streets," — it  was  the  stranger  who 
spoke — "that  Mayenne  and  his  riders  would  be  in 
town  to-morrow.  Then  it  seems  to  me  that  our 
friends  of  the  Sorbonne  will  not  have  matters  alto- 
gether their  own  way— to  wreck  or  to  spare!" 

The  Sorbonne  was  the  Theological  College  of 
Paris ;  at  this  time  it  was  the  headquarters  of  the 
extreme  Leaguers  and  the  Sixteen.  Mayenne  an4 


96  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

D'Aumale,  the  Guise  princes,  more  than  once  found 
it  necessary  to  check  the  excesses  of  the  party. 

Marie  Portail  looked  for  the  first  time  at  the 
speaker.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  chest,  care- 
lessly swinging  one  knee  over  the  other ;  a  man  of 
middle  height,  neither  tall  nor  short,  with  well- 
bronzed  cheeks,  a  forehead  broad  and  white,  and 
an  aquiline  nose.  He  wore  a  beard  and  mous- 
taches, and  his  chin  jutted  out.  His  eyes  were 
keen,  but  good-humoured.  Though  spare  he  was 
sinewy ;  and  an  iron-hilted  sword  propped  against 
his  thigh  seemed  made  for  use  rather  than  show. 
The  upper  part  of  his  dress  was  of  brown  cloth, 
the  lower  of  leather.  A  weather-stained  cloak, 
which  he  had  taken  off,  lay  on  the  chest  beside 
him. 

"You  are  a  man !"  cried  Marie,  her  eyes  leaving 
him  again.  "But  as  for  these " 

"Stay,  mistress!"  the  clerk  broke  in.  "Your 
brother  does  but  collect  himself.  If  the  Duke  of 
Mayenne  returns  to-morrow,  as  our  friend  here 
says  is  likely — and  I  have  heard  the  same  myself 
— he  will  keep  his  men  in  better  order.  That  is 
true.  And  we  might  risk  it  if  the  watch  would 
leave  us  a  clear  street." 

Felix  nodded  sullenly.  "Shut  the  door,"  he 
said  to  his  sister,  the  deep  gloom  on  his  coun- 
tenance in  sharp  contrast  with  the  excitement  she 
betrayed.  "  There  is  no  need  to  let  the  neighbours 
see  us." 


FOE  THE  CAUSE  97 

This  time  she  obeyed  him.  Susanne  too  crept 
from  her  skirts,  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees, 
hiding  her  face  on  a  chair.  "Ay!"  said  Marie, 
looking  down  at  her  with  the  first  expression 
of  tenderness  the  stranger  had  noted  in  her. 
"Let  her  weep.  Let  children  weep.  But  let  men 
work." 

"We  want  a  ladder,"  the  clerk  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "And  the  longest  we  have  is  full  three  feet 
short." 

"That  is  just  half  a  man,"  remarked  he  who 
sat  on  the  chest. 

"What  mean  you?"  Felix  asked  wonderingly. 

"What  I  said." 

"But  there  is  nothing  on  which  we  can  rest  the 
ladder,"  the  clerk  urged. 

"Then  that  is  a  whole  man,"  quoth  the  stran- 
ger, curtly.  "  Perhaps  two.  I  told  you  you  would 
have  need  of  me."  He  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  with  a  smile — a  careless,  reckless,  self-con- 
tented smile. 

"You  are  a  soldier,"  said  Marie.  And  abruptly 
she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him. 

"At  times,"  he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"For  which  side?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "For  my  own,"  he  an- 
swered naively. 

"A  soldier  of  fortune?" 

"At  your  service,  mistress;  now  and  ever." 

The  clerk  struck  in  with  impatience.    "If  we  are 


98  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

to  do  this,"  he  said,  "we  had  better  set  about  it. 
I  will  fetch  the  ladder." 

He  went  out,  and  the  other  men  followed  more 
slowly  down  the  stairs ;  leaving  Marie  still  stand- 
ing gazing  into  the  darkness  of  the  front  room- 
she  had  opened  the  door  again — like  one  in  a 
trance.  Some  odd  trait  in  the  soldier  led  him,  as 
he  passed  out,  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  hair  of  the 
kneeling  child  with  a  movement  infinitely  tender ; 
infinitely  at  variance  with  the  harsh  clatter  with 
which  his  sword  next  moment  rang  against  the 
stairs  as  he  descended. 

The  three  men  were  going  to  do  that  which  two 
for  certain,  and  all  perhaps,  knew  to  be  perilous. 
One  went  to  it  in  gloom,  reluctance  and  anger,  as 
well  as  with  sorrow  at  his  heart.  One  bustled 
about  nervously,  and  looked  often  behind  him  as 
if  to  see  Marie's  pale  face  at  the  window.  And  one 
strode  out  as  to  a  ball,  glancing  up  and  down  the 
dark  lane  with  an  air  of  enjoyment,  which  not 
even  the  grim  nature  of  his  task  could  suppress. 
The  body  was  hanging  from  a  bar  which  crossed 
the  street  at  a  considerable  height,  and  served  as 
a  stay  between  the  gables  of  two  opposite  houses, 
of  which  one  was  two  doors  only  from  the  un- 
happy PortaiFs.  The  mob,  with  a  barbarity  very 
common  in  those  days,  had  hung  him  on  his  own 
threshold. 

The  street,  as  the  three  moved  into  it,  seemed 
empty  and  still.  But  it  was  impossible  to  say 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  99 

how  long  it  would  remain  so.  Yet  the  soldier 
loitered,  staring  about  him,  as  one  remembering 
things.  "  Did  not  the  Admiral  live  in  this  street?" 
he  inquired. 

"De  Coligny?  No.  Round  the  corner  in  the 
Rue  de  Bethisy,"  replied  the  clerk,  brusquely. 
"  But  see !  The  ladder  will  not  reach  the  bar — no, 
not  by  four  feet." 

"Set  it  against  the  wall  then — thus,"  said  the 
soldier,  and  having  done  it  himself,  he  mounted  a 
few  steps.  Then  he  seemed  to  bethink  himself.  He 
jumped  down  again.  "No,"  he  exclaimed,  peering 
sharply  into  the  faces  of  one  and  the  other,  "I  do 
not  know  you.  If  any  one  comes,  my  friends,  and 
you  leave  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  I  shall  be  taken 
like  a  bird  on  a  limed  twig.  Do  you  ascend, 
Monsieur  Felix." 

The  young  man  drew  back.  He  was  not  without 
courage,  or  experience  of  rough  scenes.  But  the 
Louvre  was  close  at  hand,  almost  within  earshot 
on  one  side,  the  Chatelet  was  scarcely  farther  off 
on  the  other ;  and  both  swarmed  with  soldiers  and 
the  armed  scourings  of  the  streets.  At  any  mo- 
ment a  troop  of  these  might  pass;  and  should 
they  detect  any  one  interfering  with  King  Mob's 
handiwork,  he  would  certainly  dangle  in  a  few 
minutes  from  that  same  handy  lamp-iron.  Felix 
knew  this,  and  stood  at  gaze.  "I  do  not  know 
you  either,"  he  muttered  irresolutely,  his  hand 
still  on  the  ladder. 


100  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

A  smile  of  surprising  humour  played  on  the 
soldier's  face.  "Nay,  but  you  knew  him!"  he  re- 
torted, pointing  upwards  with  his  hand.  "Trust 
me,  young  sir,"  he  added  significantly,  "I  am  less 
inclined  to  mount  now— than  I  was  before." 

The  clerk  intervened  before  Felix  could  resent 
the  insult.  "Steady,"  he  said;  "I  will  go  up  and 
do  it." 

"Not  so!"  Felix  rejoined,  pushing  him  aside  in 
turn.  And  he  ran  up  the  ladder.  But  near  the 
top  he  paused,  and  began  to  descend  again.  "I 
have  no  knife,"  he  said  shamefacedly. 

"Pshaw!  Let  me  come!"  cried  the  stranger. 
"I  see  you  are  both  good  comrades.  I  trust  you. 
Besides,  I  am  more  used  to  this  ladder  work  than 
you  are,  and  time  is  everything." 

He  ran  up  as  he  spoke,  and,  standing  on  the 
highest  round  but  one,  he  grasped  the  bar  above 
his  head,  and  swung  himself  lightly  up,  so  as  to 
gain  a  seat  on  it.  With  more  caution  he  wormed 
himself  along  it  until  he  reached  the  rope.  For- 
tunately there  was  a  long  coil  of  this  about  the 
bar ;  and  warning  his  companions  in  a  whisper,  he 
carefully,  and  with  such  reverence  as  the  time  and 
place  allowed,  let  down  the  body  to  them.  They 
received  it  in  their  arms;  and  had  just  loosened 
the  noose  from  the  neck  when  an  outburst  of 
voices  and  the  tramp  of  footsteps  at  the  nearer 
end  of  the  street  surprised  them.  For  an  instant 
the  two  stood  in  the  gloom,  breathless,  stricken 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  101 

still,  confounded.  Then  with  a  single  impulse  they 
lifted  the  body  between  them,  and  huddled  blindly 
towards  the  door  of  the  Portails'  house.  It 
opened  at  their  touch,  they  stumbled  in,  and  it 
fell  to  behind  them.  The  foremost  of  the  armed 
watch  had  been  within  ten  paces  of  them.  The 
escape  was  narrow. 

Yet  they  had  escaped.  But  what  next?  What 
of  their  comrade?  The  moment  the  door  was 
closed  behind  them,  one  at  least  would  have 
rushed  out  again,  ay,  to  certain  death,  so  strongly 
had  the  soldier's  trust  appealed  to  his  honour. 
But  they  had  the  body  in  their  arms ;  and  by  the 
time  it  was  laid  on  the  stairs,  a  score  of  men  had 
passed.  The  opportunity  was  over.  They  could 
do  nothing  but  listen.  "Heaven  help  him!"  fell 
from  the  clerk's  quivering  lips.  Pulling  the  door 
close,  they  stood,  looking  each  moment  to  hear  a 
challenge,  a  shot,  the  clash  of  swords.  But  no. 
They  heard  the  party  halt  under  the  gallows,  and 
pass  some  brutal  jest,  and  go  on.  And  that  was  all. 

They  could  scarcely  believe  their  ears;  no,  nor 
their  eyes,  when  a  few  minutes  later,  the  street 
being  now  quiet,  they  passed  out,  and  stood  in  it 
shuddering.  For  there  swung  the  corpse  dimly 
outlined  above  them  !  There  !  Certainly  there ! 
The  clerk  seized  his  companion's  arm  and  drew 
him  back.  "It  was  the  fiend!"  he  stammered. 
"See,  your  father  is  still  there!  It  was  the  fiend 
who  helped  us ! " 


102  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

But  at  that  the  figure  they  were  watching  be- 
came agitated;  an  instant  and  it  slid  gently  to 
the  ground.  It  was  the  soldier.  "  0  ye  gods  ! "  he 
cried,  bent  double  with  silent  laughter.  "  Saw  you 
ever  such  a  trick?  How  I  longed  to  kick,  if  it 
were  but  my  toe  at  them,  and  I  forbore !  Fools ! 
Did  man  ever  see  a  body  hung  in  its  sword?  But 
it  was  a  good  trick,  eh?"  he  continued,  appealing 
to  them  with  a  simple  pride  in  his  invention.  "I 
had  the  rope  loose  in  my  hand  when  they  came, 
and  I  drew  it  twice  round  my  neck— and  one  arm 
trust  me — and  swung  off  gently.  It  is  not  every  one 
who  would  have  thought  of  that,  my  children ! " 

It  was  odd.  They  shook  with  fear,  and  he  with 
laughter.  He  did  not  seem  to  give  a  thought  to 
the  danger  he  had  escaped.  Pride  in  his  readiness 
and  a  keen  sense  of  the  humorous  side  of  the  inci- 
dent possessed  him  entirely.  At  the  very  door  of 
the  house  he  still  chuckled  from  time  to  time; 
muttering  between  the  ebullitions,  "Ah,  I  must 
tell  Diane!  Diane  will  be  pleased — at  that!  It 
was  good  !  Very  good  !" 

Once  in  the  house,  however,  he  acted  with  more 
delicacy  than  might  have  been  imagined.  He 
stood  aside  while  the  other  two  carried  the  body 
upstairs;  and  while  they  were  absent,  he  waited 
patiently  in  the  bare  room  below,  which  showed 
signs  of  occasional  use  as  a  stable.  Here  the  clerk 
Adrian  presently  found  him,  and  murmured  some 
apology.  Mistress  Marie,  he  said,  had  fainted. 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  103 

"A  matter  which  afflicts  you,  my  friend,"  the 
soldier  replied  with  a  grimace,  "about  as  much  as 
your  master's  death.  Pooh,  man,  do  not  look 
fierce !  Good  luck  to  you  and  your  suit.  Only  if 
— but  this  is  no  house  for  gallantry  to-night— I 
had  spruced  myself  and  taken  a  part,  you  had 
had  to  look  to  your  one  ewe  lamb,  I  warrant 
you!" 

The  clerk  turned  pale  and  red  by  turns.  This 
man  seemed  to  read  his  thoughts  as  if  he  had  in- 
deed been  the  fiend.  "What  do  you  wish?"  he 
stammered. 

"  Only  shelter  until  the  early  morning  when  the 
streets  are  most  quiet ;  and  a  direction  to  the  Rue 
des  Lombards." 

"The  Rue  des  Lombards?" 

"Yes,  why  not?"  But  though  the  soldier  still 
smiled,  the  lines  of  his  mouth  hardened  suddenly. 
"Why  not  to  the  Rue  des  Lombards?" 

"I  know  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  go- 
ing there,"  the  clerk  replied  boldly.  "It  was  only 
that  the  street  is  near;  and  a  friend  of  my  late 
master's  lives  in  it." 

"His  name?" 

The  clerk  started;  the  question  was  put  so 
abruptly,  and  in  a  tone  so  imperious,  it  struck 
him  as  it  were  a  blow.  "Nicholas  Toussaint,"  he 
answered  involuntarily. 

"Ay?"  replied  the  other,  raising  his  hand  to  his 
chin  and  glancing  at  Adrian  with  a  look  that  for 


104  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

all  the  world  reminded  him  of  an  old  print  of  the 
eleventh  Louis,  which  hung  in  a  room  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville— so  keen  and  astute  was  it.  "Your 
master,  young  man,  was  of  the  moderate  party— 
a  Politique?" 

"He  was." 

"A  good  man  and  a  Catholic?  one  who  loved 
France?  A  Leaguer  only  in  name?"  the  other 
continued  with  vividness. 

"Yes,  that  is  so." 

"But  his  son?  He  is  a  Leaguer  out  and  out- 
one  who  would  rise  to  fortune  on  the  flood  tide  of 
the  mob?  A  Sorbonnist?  The  priests  have  got 
hold  of  him?  He  would  do  to  others  as  they  have 
done  to  his  father?  A  friend  of  Le  Clerc  and 
Boucher?  That  is  all  so,  is  it  not?" 

Adrian  nodded  reluctantly.  This  strange  man 
confounded  and  yet  fascinated  him :  this  man  so 
reckless  and  gay  one  moment,  so  wary  the  next ; 
exchanging  in  an  instant  the  hail  of  a  boon  com- 
panion for  the  tone  of  a  noble. 

"And  is  your  young  master  also  a  friend  of  this 
Nicholas  Toussaint?"  was  the  next  question, 
slowly  put. 

"No,"  said  Adrian,  "he  has  been  forbidden  the 
house.  M.  Toussaint  does  not  approve  of  his 
opinions." 

"That  is  so,  is  it?"  the  stranger  rejoined  with 
his  former  gaiety.  "And  now  enough:  where  will 
you  lodge  me  until  morning?" 


FOE  THE  CAUSE  105 

"If  my  closet  will  serve  you,"  Felix  answered 
with  a  hesitation  he  would  not  have  felt  a  few 
minutes  before,  "it  is  at  your  will.  I  will  bring 
some  food  there  at  once,  and  will  let  you  out  if 
you  please  at  five."  And  Adrian  added  some  sim- 
ple directions,  by  following  which  his  guest  might 
reach  the  Rue  des  Lombards  without  difficulty. 

An  hour  later  if  the  thoughts  of  those  who  lay 
sleepless  under  that  roof  could  have  been  traced, 
strange  contrasts  would  have  appeared.  Was 
Felix  Portail  thinking  of  his  dead  father,  or  of  his 
sweetheart  in  the  Eue  des  Lombards,  or  of  his 
schemes  of  ambition?  Was  he  blaming  the  crew  of 
whom  until  to-day  he  had  been  one,  or  sullenly 
cursing  those  factious  Huguenots  as  the  root  of 
the  mischief?  Was  Adrian  thinking  of  his  kind 
master,  or  of  his  master's  daughter?  Was  the 
guest  dreaming  of  his  narrow  escape?  or  revolving 
plans  beside  which  Felix's  were  but  the  schemes 
of  a  rat  in  a  drain?  Perhaps  Marie  alone — for 
Susanne  slept  a  child's  sleep  of  exhaustion — had 
her  thoughts  fixed  on  him,  who  only  a  few  hours 
before  had  been  the  centre  of  the  household. 

But  such  is  life  in  troubled  times.  Pleasure  and 
pain  come  mingled,  and  men  snatch  the  former 
from  the  midst  of  the  latter  with  a  trembling  joy, 
a  fierce  eagerness :  knowing  that  if  they  wait  to 
go  a  pleasuring  until  the  sky  be  clear,  they  may 
wait  until  nightfall. 

When  Adrian  called  his  guest  at  cock-crow  the 


106  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

latter  rose  briskly  and  followed  him  down  to  the 
door.  "Well,  young  sir,"  he  said,  pausing  an  in- 
stant on  the  threshold,  as  he  wrapped  his  cloak 
round  him  and  took  his  sheathed  sword  hi  his 
hand,  "I  am  obliged  to  you.  When  I  can  do  you 
a  service,  I  will." 

"You  can  do  me  one  now,"  the  clerk  replied 
bluntly.  "It  is  ill  work  having  to  do  with  stran- 
gers in  these  days.  You  can  tell  me  who  you  are, 
and  to  which  side  you  belong." 

"Which  side?  I  have  told  you— my  own.  And 
for  the  rest,"  the  soldier  continued,  "I  will  give 
you  a  hint."  He  brought  his  lips  near  to  the 
other's  ear,  and  whispered,  "Kiss  Marie — for  me !" 

The  clerk  looked  up  aflame  with  anger  and  sur- 
prise; but  the  other  was  far  gone  striding  down 
the  street.  Yet  Adrian  received  an  answer  to  his 
question.  For  as  the  stranger  disappeared  in  the 
gloom,  he  turned  his  head  and  broke  with  an 
audacity  that  took  away  the  listener's  breath 
into  a  well-known  air, 

"  Hau  I  Hau  I   Papegots  I 
Faites  place  aux  Huguenots  1" 

and  trilled  it  as  merrily  as  if  he  had  been  in  the 
streets  of  Eochelle. 

"Death !"  the  clerk  exclaimed,  getting  back  into 
the  house,  and  barring  the  door  in  a  panic.  "I 
thought  so.  He  is  a  Huguenot.  But  if  he  take 
his  neck  out  of  Paris  unstretched,  he  will  have  the 
fiend's  own  luck,  and  the  Bearnais'  to  boot!" 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  107 

II 

WHEN  the  clerk  had  re-mounted  the  stairs,  he 
heard  voices  in  the  back  room.  Felix  and  Marie 
were  in  consultation.  The  girl  was  a  different  be- 
ing this  morning.  The  fire  and  fury  of  the  night 
had  sunk  to  a  still  misery;  and  even  to  her,  for 
his  sister's  sake,  it  seemed  over-dangerous  to  stay 
in  the  house  and  confront  the  rage  of  the  mob. 
Mayenne  might  not  after  all  return :  and  in  that 
case  the  Sixteen  would  assuredly  wreak  their  spite 
on  all,  however  young  or  helpless,  who  might  have 
had  to  do  with  the  removal  of  the  body.  "You 
must  seek  shelter  with  some  friend,"  Felix  urged, 
"  before  the  city  is  astir.  I  can  go  to  the  Univer- 
sity. I  shall  be  safe  there." 

"Could  you  not  take  us  with  you?"  Marie  sug- 
gested meekly. 

He  shook  his  head,  his  face  flushing.  It  was 
hard  to  confess  that  he  had  power  to  destroy,  but 
none  to  protect.  "You  had  better  go  to  Nicholas 
Toussaint's,"  he  said.  "You  will  be  safe  there, 
and  he  will  take  you  in,  though  he  will  have 
naught  to  do  with  me." 

Marie  assented  with  a  sigh,  and  rose  to  make 
ready.  Some  few  valuables  were  hidden  or  secured, 
some  clothes  taken;  and  then  the  little  party  of 
four  passed  out  into  the  street,  leaving  but  one 
solemn  tenant  in  their  home.  The  cold  light  of  a 
November  morning  gave  to  the  lane  an  air,  even 


108  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

in  their  eyes,  of  squalor  and  misery.  The  kennel 
running  down  the  middle  was  choked  with  nasti- 
ness,  while  here  and  there  the  upper  stories  leaned 
forward  so  far  as  to  obscure  the  light. 

The  fugitives  regarded  these  things  little  after 
the  first  shivering  glance,  but  hurried  on  their 
road ;  Felix  with  his  sword  marching  on  one  side 
of  the  girls,  and  Adrian  with  his  club  walking  on 
the  other.  A  skulking  dog  got  out  of  their  way. 
The  song  of  a  belated  reveller  drove  them  for  a 
time  under  an  arch.  But  they  fell  in  writh  nothing 
more  formidable,  and  in  five  minutes  came  safely 
to  the  high  wooden  gates  of  the  courtyard  in 
front  of  Nicholas  Toussaint's  house. 

To  arouse  him  or  his  servants  without  dis- 
turbing the  neighbourhood  was  another  matter. 
There  was  no  bell;  only  a  heavy  iron  clapper. 
Adrian  tried  this  cautiously,  with  little  hope  of 
being  heard.  To  his  joy  the  hollow  sound  had 
scarcely  ceased  when  footsteps  were  heard  crossing 
the  court,  and  a  small  trap  in  one  of  the  gates 
was  opened.  An  elderly  man  with  high  cheek 
bones  and  curly  grey  hair  looked  out.  His  eyes 
lighting  on  the  girls  lost  their  harshness.  "  Marie 
Portail !"  he  exclaimed.  "Ah  !  poor  thing,  I  pity 
you.  I  have  heard  all.  I  returned  to  the  city  last 
night  only,  or  I  should  have  been  with  you.  And 
Adrian?" 

"We  have  come,"  said  the  young  man,  respect- 
fully, "to  beg  shelter  for  Mistress  Marie  and  her 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  109 

sister.    It  is  no  longer  safe  for  them  to  remain  in 
the  Rue  de  Tirchape." 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  cried  Toussaint,  vigor- 
ously. "I  do  not  know  where  we  are  safe 
nowadays.  But  there,"  he  added  in  a  different 
tone,  "no  doubt  the  Sixteen  are  acting  for  the 
best." 

"You  will  take  them  in  then?"  said  Adrian  with 
gratitude. 

But  to  his  astonishment  the  citizen  shook  his 
head,  while  an  awkward  embarrassment  twisted 
his  features.  "It  is  impossible!"  he  said. 

Adrian  doubted  if  he  had  heard  aright.  Nicho- 
las Toussaint  was  known  for  a  bold  man;  one 
whom  the  Sixteen  disliked,  and  even  suspected  of 
Huguenot  leanings,  but  one  too  whom  they  had 
not  yet  dared  to  attack.  He  was  a  dealer  in 
Norman  horses,  and  this  both  led  him  to  employ 
many  men,  reckless  daring  fellows,  and  made  him 
in  some  degree  necessary  to  the  army.  Adrian 
had  never  doubted  that  he  would  shelter  the 
daughter  of  his  old  friend ;  and  his  surprise  on  re- 
ceiving this  rebuff  was  extreme. 

"But,  Monsieur  Toussaint — "  he  urged — and  his 
face  reddened  with  generous  warmth  as  he  stood 
forward.  "  My  master  is  dead  !  Foully  murdered  ! 
He  lies  who  says  otherwise,  though  he  be  of  the 
Sixteen !  My  mistress  has  few  friends  to  protect 
her,  and  those  of  small  power.  Will  you  send  her 
and  the  child  from  your  door?" 


110  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Hush,  Adrian/'  the  girl  interposed,  lifting  her 
head  proudly,  yet  laying  her  hand  on  the  clerk's 
sleeve  with  a  touch  of  acknowledgment  that 
brought  the  blood  in  redoubled  force  to  his  cheeks. 
"  Do  not  press  our  friend  overmuch.  If  he  will  not 
take  us  in  from  the  streets,  be  sure  he  has  some 
good  reason  to  offer." 

But  Toussaint  was  dumb.  Shame  —  a  shame 
augmented  tenfold  by  the  clerk's  fearlessness — was 
so  clearly  written  on  his  face,  that  Adrian  uttered 
none  of  the  reproaches  which  hung  on  his  lips.  It 
was  Felix  who  came  forward,  and  cried  contemp- 
tuously, "So  you  have  grown  strangely  cautious 
of  a  sudden,  M.  Toussaint?" 

"Ha!  I  thought  you  were  there,  or  there- 
abouts ! "  the  horse-dealer  replied,  regaining  his 
composure  at  once,  and  eyeing  him  with  strong 
disfavour. 

"But  Felix  and  I,"  Adrian  exclaimed  eagerly, 
"will  fend  for  ourselves." 

Toussaint  shook  his  head.  "It  is  impossible," 
he  said  surlily.  "Quite  impossible!" 

"Then  hear  me!"  Felix  interposed  with  excite- 
ment. "  You  do  not  deceive  me.  It  is  not  because 
of  your  daughter  that  you  have  forbidden  me  the 
house,  and  will  not  now  protect  my  sister !  It  is 
because  we  shall  learn  too  much.  It  is  because 
you  have  those  under  your  roof,  whom  the  crows 
shall  pick— yet !  You,  I  will  spare  for  Madeline's 
pake ;  but  your  spies  J  will  string  up,  every  one  of 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  111 

them  by "  and  he  swore  a  frightful  oath,  such 

as  the  Romanists  used. 

Toussaint's  face  betrayed  both  fear  and  anger. 
For  an  instant  he  seemed  to  hesitate.  Then  ex- 
claiming, "Begone,  parricide!  You  would  have 
killed  your  own  father ! "  he  slammed  the  trap- 
door, and  was  heard  retreating  up  the  yard  with 
a  haste  and  clatter  which  indicated  his  uneasi- 
ness. 

The  four  looked  at  one  another.  Daylight  had 
fully  come.  The  noise  of  the  altercation  had 
drawn  more  than  one  sleepy  face  to  the  window. 
In  a  short  time  the  streets  would  be  alive  with 
people,  and  even  a  delay  of  a  few  minutes  might 
bring  destruction.  They  thought  of  this;  and 
moved  away  slowly  and  reluctantly,  Susanne 
clinging  to  Adrian's  arm,  while  Felix  strode  ahead 
scowling.  But  when  they  had  placed  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  between  themselves  and  Toussaint's 
gates,  they  stopped,  a  chill  sense  of  desolation 
upon  them.  Whither  were  they  to  go?  Felix 
urged  that  they  should  seek  other  friends  and  try 
them.  But  Marie  declined.  If  Nicholas  Toussaint 
dared  not  take  them  in,  no  other  of  their  friends 
would.  She  had  given  up  hope,  and  longed  only 
to  get  back  to  their  home,  and  the  still  form, 
which  it  seemed  to  her  she  should  never  have  de- 
serted. 

They  were  standing  discussing  this  when  a  cry 
caused  them  to  turn.  A  girl  was  running  hatless 


112  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

along  the  street;  a  girl  tall  and  plump  of  figure, 
with  a  creamy  slightly  freckled  face,  a  glory  of 
waving  golden  hair  upon  her  shoulders,  and  great 
grey  eyes  that  could  laugh  and  cry  at  once,  even 
as  they  were  doing  now.  "My  poor  Marie,"  she 
exclaimed,  taking  her  in  her  arms;  "my  poor  lit- 
tle one !  Come  back  !  You  are  to  come  back  at 
once !"  Then  disengaging  herself,  with  a  blushing 
cheek,  she  allowed  Felix  to  embrace  her.  But 
though  that  young  gentleman  made  full  use  of  his 
permission,  his  face  did  not  clear.  "Your  father 
has  just  turned  my  sister  from  his  door,"  he  said 
bitterly,  "as  he  turned  me  a  month  ago." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  tender  upward  glance 
meant  for  him  only.  "Hush!"  she  begged  him. 
"Do  not  speak  so  of  my  father.  And  he  has  sent 
to  fetch  them  back.  He  says  he  cannot  keep  them 
himself,  but  if  they  will  come  in  and  rest  he  will 
see  them  safely  disposed.  Will  not  that  do?" 

"Excellently,  Miss  Madeline,"  Adrian  cried  with 
gratitude.  "And  we  thank  your  father  a  thou- 
sand times." 

"Nay,  but — "  she  said  slyly — "that  permission 
does  not  extend  to  you." 

"What  matter?" 

"What  matter  if  Marie  be  safe  you  mean,"  she 
replied  demurely.  "Well,  I  would  I  had  so  gallant 
a — clerk,"  with  a  glance  at  her  own  handsome 
lover.  "But  come,  my  father  is  waiting  at  the 
gate  for  us."  And  she  urged  haste,  notwithstand- 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  113 

ing  which  she  and  Felix  were  the  last  to  turn. 
When  she  at  length  ran  after  the  others  her  cheeks 
betrayed  her. 

"I  can  see  what  you  have  been  doing,  girl,"  her 
father  cried,  meeting  her  within  the  door.  "For 
shame,  hussy  I  Go  to  your  room,  and  take  your 
friends  with  you."  And  he  aimed  a  light  blow  at 
her,  which  she  easily  evaded. 

"They  will  need  breakfast,"  she  persisted.  She 
had  seen  her  lover,  and  though  the  interview 
might  have  had  its  drawbacks — best  known  to 
herself— she  cared  little  for  a  blow  in  comparison 
with  that. 

"They  will  take  it  in  your  room,"  he  retorted. 
"Come,  pack,  girl!  Pack!  I  will  talk  to  you 
presently,"  he  added,  with  meaning. 

The  Portails  drew  her  away.  To  them  her  room 
was  a  haven  of  rest,  where  they  felt  safe,  and 
could  pour  out  their  grief,  and  let  her  pity  and 
indignation  soothe  them.  The  horror  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  began  to  fall  from  them. 
They  seemed  to  themselves  to  be  outcasts  no 
longer. 

In  the  afternoon  Toussaint  reappeared.  "On 
with  your  hoods,"  he  cried  briskly,  his  good  hu- 
mour re-established.  "I  and  half  a  dozen  stout 
lads  will  see  you  to  a  place  where  you  can  lie 
snug  for  a  week." 

Marie  asked  timidly  about  her  father's  funeral. 

"  I  will  see  to  it,  little  one,"  he  answered.   "I  will  let 
8 


114  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  curate  of  St.  Germain  know.    He  will  do  what 
is  seemly — if  the  mob  let  him,"  he  added  to  himself. 

"But,  father,"  cried  Madeline,  "where  are  you 
going  to  take  them?" 

"To  Thilip  Boj^er's." 

"  What !"  the  girl  cried  in  much  surprise.  "His 
house  is  small  and  Philip  and  his  wife  are  old  and 
feeble." 

"True,"  answered  Toussaint.  "But  his  hutch  is 
under  the  Duchess's  roof.  There  is  a  touch  of  our 
great  man  about  Madame.  Mayenne  the  crowd 
neither  overmuch  love,  nor  much  fear.  He  will  die 
in  his  bed.  But  with  his  sister  it  is  a  word  and  a 
blow.  The  Sixteen  will  not  touch  aught  that  is 
under  her  roof." 

The  Duchess  de  Montpensier  was  the  sister  of 
Henry  Duke  of  Guise,  Henry  the  Scarred,  Our 
great  man,  as  the  Parisians  loved  to  call  him. 
He  had  been  assassinated  in  the  antechamber  of 
Henry  of  Valois  some  two  years  before  this  time ; 
and  she  had  become  the  soul  of  the  League,  hav- 
ing more  of  the  headstrong  nature  which  had 
made  him  popular,  than  either  of  his  brothers, 
Mayenne  or  D'Aumale. 

"I  see,"  said  Madeline,  kissing  the  girls,  "you 
are  right,  father." 

"Impertinent  baggage!"  he  cried.  "To  your 
prayers  and  your  needle.  And  see  that  while  we 
are  away  you  keep  close,  and  do  not  venture  into 
the  courtyard  even," 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  115 

She  was  not  a  nervous  girl,  and  she  was  used  to 
be  alone ;  but  the  bare,  roomy  house  seemed  lonely 
after  her  father  and  his  party  had  set  out.  She 
wandered  to  the  kitchen  where  the  two  old  women- 
servants  were  preparing,  with  the  aid  of  a  turn- 
spit, the  early  supper ;  there  she  learned  that  only 
old  Simon,  the  lame  ostler,  was  left  in  the  stables, 
which  stood  on  either  side  of  the  courtyard.  This 
was  not  re-assuring  news :  the  more  as  Madeline 
knew  her  father  might  not  return  for  another 
hour.  She  went  thence  to  the  long  eating-room 
on  the  first  floor,  which  ran  the  full  depth  of  the 
house,  and  had  one  window  looking  to  the  back 
as  well  as  several  facing  the  courtyard.  Here  she 
opened  the  door  of  the  stove,  and  let  the  cheery 
glow  play  upon  her. 

Presently  she  grew  tired  of  this,  too,  and  moved 
to  the  rearward  window.  It  looked  upon  a  nar- 
row lane,  and  a  dead  wall.  Still,  there  was  a 
chance  of  seeing  some  one  pass,  some  stranger; 
whereas  the  windows  which  looked  on  the  empty 
courtyard  were  no  windows  at  all — to  Madeline. 

The  girl  had  not  long  looked  out  before  her  pale 
complexion,  which  the  fire  had  scarcely  warmed, 
grew  hot.  She  started,  and  glanced  nervously 
into  the  room  behind  her ;  then  looked  out  again. 
She  had  seen,  standing  in  a  nook  of  the  wall  op- 
posite her,  a  figure  she  knew  well.  It  was  that  of 
her  lover,  and  he  seemed  to  be  watching  the  house. 
Timidly  she  waved  her  hand  to  him,  and  he,  after 


116  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

looking  up  and  down  the  lane,  advanced  to  the 
window.  He  could  do  this  safely,  for  it  was 
the  only  window  in  the  Toussaints'  house  which 
looked  that  way. 

"Are  you  alone?"  he  whispered,  looking  up  at 
her. 

She  nodded. 

"  And  my  sisters?  I  am  here  to  learn  what  has 
become  of  them." 

"Have  gone  to  Philip  Boyer's.  He  lives  in  one 
of  the  cottages  on  the  left  of  the  Duchess's  court." 

"Ah!  And  you?  Where  is  your  father?"  he 
murmured. 

"He  has  gone  to  take  them.  I  am  alone;  and 
two  minutes  ago  I  was  melancholy,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile  that  should  have  made  him  happy. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  replied.  "May  I 
climb  up  if  I  can,  Madeline?" 

She  shook  her  head,  which  of  course  meant,  no. 
And  she  said,  "It  is  impossible."  But  she  smiled; 
and  that  meant,  yes.  Or  so  he  took  it. 

There  was  a  pipe  which  ran  up  the  wall  a  couple 
of  feet  or  so  on  one  side  of  the  casement.  Before 
she  understood  his  plan,  or  that  he  was  in  earn- 
est, he  had  gripped  this,  and  was  halfway  up  to 
the  window. 

"Oh,  take  care,"  she  cried.  "Do  not  come, 
Felix.  Do  not  come.  My  father  will  never  forgive 
you  ! "  Woman-like  she  repented,  when  it  was  too 
late.  But  he  did  not  listen,  he  came  on,  and  when 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  117 

his  hand  was  stretched  out  to  grasp  the  sill,  all 
her  fear  was  lest  he  should  fall.  She  seized  his 
wrist,  and  helped  him  in.  Then  she  drew  back. 
"You  should  not  have  done  it,  Felix,"  she  said, 
drawing  back  from  him  with  reproof  in  her  eyes. 

"But  I  wanted  to  see  you  so  much,"  he  urged, 
"and  the  glimpse  I  had  of  you  this  morning  was 
nothing." 

"Well,  you  may  come  to  the  stove  and  warm 
yourself — a  moment.  Oh !  how  cold  your  hands 
are,  my  poor  boy  !  But  you  must  not  stay.  In- 
deed you  must  not!"  And  she  cast  terrified 
glances  at  the  door. 

But  stolen  moments  are  sweet  and  apt  to  be 
long  drawn  out.  She  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  and 
he  had  a  great  deal  it  seemed  to  ask — so  much  to 
ask  indeed,  that  gradually  a  dim  sense  that  he 
was  asking  about  other  things  than  herself — about 
her  father  and  the  ways  of  the  house,  and  what 
guests  they  had,  came  over  her. 

It  chilled  her.  She  drew  away  from  him,  and 
said,  suddenly,  "Oh,  Felix  !"  and  looked  at  him. 

Nothing  more.  But  he  understood  her  and 
coloured ;  and  tried  to  ask,  but  asked  awkwardly, 
"What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  know  of  what  you  are  thinking,"  she  said 
with  grave  sorrow.  "And  it  is  base  of  you,  it  is 
cruel !  You  would  use  even  me  whom  you  love — 
to  ruin  my  friends!" 

"Hush!"  he  answered,  letting  his  gloomy  pas- 


118  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

sion  have  vent  for  the  moment,  "they  are  not 
your  friends,  Madeline.  See  what  they  have  done 
for  me.  It  is  they,  or  the  troubles  they  have  set 
on  foot,  that  have  killed  my  father!"  And  he 
swore — carried  away  by  his  mistaken  resentment — 
never  again  to  spare  a  Huguenot  save  her  father 
and  one  other. 

She  trembled  and  tried  to  close  her  ears.  Her 
father  had  told  her  a  hundred  times  that  she  could 
not  be  happy  with  a  husband  divided  from  her  by 
a  gulf  so  wide.  She  had  said  to  him  that  it  was 
too  late.  She  had  given  Felix  her  heart  and  she 
was  a  woman.  She  could  not  take  it  back,  though 
she  knew  that  nothing  but  unhappiness  could 
come  of  the  match. 

"  God  forgive  you  ! "  she  cried  in  that  moment  of 
strained  insight ;  and  sank  in  her  chair  as  though 
she  would  weep. 

He  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her  with  words  of  en- 
dearment; for  he  had  conquered  himself  again. 
And  she  let  him  soothe  her,  and  would  gladly 
have  believed  him.  She  had  never  loved  him  more 
than  now,  when  she  knew  the  price  she  must  pay 
for  him.  She  closed  her  eyes— for  the  moment — 
to  that  terrible  future,  that  certain  future ;  and  he 
was  holding  her  in  his  arms,  when  without  warn- 
ing a  heavy  footstep  began  to  ascend  the  stairs. 

They  sprang  apart.  If  even  then  he  had  had 
presence  of  mind,  he  might  have  reached  the  win- 
dow. But  he  hesitated,  looking  in  her  startled 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  119 

eyes,  and  waiting.  "Is  it  your  father?"  he  whis- 
pered. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  He  cannot  have  returned. 
We  should  have  heard  the  gates  opened.  There  is 
no  one  in  the  house,"  she  murmured  faintly, 
listening  while  she  spoke. 

But  still  the  footsteps  came  on  :  and  stopped  at 
the  door.  Felix  looked  round  him  with  eyes  of 
despair.  Close  beside  him,  just  behind  the  stove, 
was  the  door  of  a  closet.  He  took  two  strides, 
and  before  he  or  she  had  thought  of  the  conse- 
quences, he  was  in  the  closet.  Softly  he  drew  the 
door  to  again ;  and  she  sank  terrified  on  a  chair, 
as  the  door  of  the  room  opened. 

He  who  came  in  was  not  her  father  but  a  man 
of  thirty-five,  a  stranger  to  her.  A  man  with  a 
projecting  chin.  His  keen  grey  eyes  wore  at  the 
moment  of  his  entrance  an  expression  of  boredom 
and  petulance,  but  when  he  caught  sight  of  her, 
this  passed,  as  a  cloud  from  the  sky.  He  came 
across  the  floor  smiling.  "  Pardon  me,"  he  said — 
but  said  it  as  if  no  pardon  were  needed,  "I  found 
the  stables— insupportably  dull.  I  set  out  on  a 
voyage  of  discovery.  I  have  found  my  America  I" 
And  he  bowed  in  a  style  which  puzzled  the  fright- 
ened girl. 

"You  want  to  see  my  father?"  she  stammered, 
"He " 

"He  has  gone  to  the  Duchess's.  I  know  it. 
And  very  ill-natured  it  was  of  him  to  leave  me  in 


120  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  stable,  instead  of  entrusting  me  to  your  care, 
mistress.  La  Noue,"  he  continued,  "is  in  the 
stable  still,  asleep  on  a  bundle  of  hay,  and  a 
pretty  commotion  there  will  be — when  he  finds  I 
have  stolen  away ! " 

Laughing  with  an  easy  carelessness  that  struck 
the  citizen's  daughter  with  fresh  astonishment,  the 
stranger  drew  up  the  armchair,  which  was  com- 
monly held  sacred  to  M.  Toussaint's  use,  and 
threw  himself  into  it;  lazily  disposing  his  booted 
feet  in  the  glow  which  poured  from  the  stove,  and 
looking  across  at  his  companion  with  admiration 
in  his  bold  eyes.  At  another  time  she  might 
have  been  offended  by  the  look :  or  she  might 
not.  Women  are  variable.  Now  her  fears  lest  Felix 
should  be  discovered  dulled  her  apprehension. 

Yet  the  name  of  La  Noue  had  caught  her  ear. 
She  knew  it  well,  as  all  France  and  the  Low  Coun- 
tries knew  it  in  those  days,  for  the  name  of  one  of 
the  boldest  and  stanchest  soldiers  on  the  Hugue- 
not side. 

"La  Noue?"  she  murmured,  misty  suspicions 
beginning  to  take  form  in  her  mind. 
-  "Yes,  pretty  one,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "La 
Noue  and  no  other.  Does  Bras-de-fer  pass  for  an 
ogre  here  in  Paris  that  you  tremble  so  at  his 
name?  Let  me " 

But  whatever  the  proposition  he  was  going  to 
offer,  it  came  to  nothing.  The  dull  clash  of  the 
gates  outside  warned  both  of  them  that  Nicholas 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  121 

Toussaint  and  his  party  had  returned.  A  moment 
later  a  hasty  tread  sounded  on  the  stairs;  and 
an  elderly  man  wearing  a  cloak  burst  in  upon 
them. 

His  eyes  swept  the  room  while  his  hand  still  held 
the  door;  and  it  was  clear  that  what  he  saw 
did  not  please  him.  He  came  forward  stiffly,  his 
brows  knitted.  But  he  said  nothing;  he  seemed 
uncertain  and  embarrassed. 

"See!"  the  first  comer  said,  looking  quietly  up 
at  him,  but  not  offering  to  move.  "Now  what  do 
you  think  of  your  ogre?  And  by  the  rood  he 
looks  fierce  enough  to  eat  babes !  There,  old 
friend,"  he  continued,  speaking  to  the  elder  man 
in  a  different  tone,  "spare  your  lecture.  This  is 
Toussaint's  daughter,  and  as  staunch  I  will  war- 
rant as  her  father." 

The  old  noble — he  had  but  one  arm,  she  saw- 
still  looked  at  her  with  disfavour.  "Girls  have 
sweethearts,  sire,"  he  said  shrewdly. 

For  a  moment — at  that  word — the  room  seemed 
to  go  round  with  her.  Though  something  more  of 
reproach  and  playful  defence  passed  between  the 
two  men,  she  heard  not  a  syllable  of  it.  The  con- 
sciousness that  her  lover  was  listening  to  every 
word,  and  that  from  this  moment  La  Noue's  life 
was  in  his  hands,  numbed  her  brain.  She  sat 
helpless,  hardly  aware  that  half  a  dozen  men  were 
entering,  her  father  one  of  them.  When  a  lamp 
was  called  for— it  was  growing  dark— she  did  not 


122  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

stir :  and  Toussaint,  who  had  not  seen  her,  fetched 
it  himself. 

By  the  time  he  came  back  she  had  partly  recov- 
ered her  wits.  She  noted  that  her  father  locked 
the  door  with  care  before  he  set  the  lamp  on  the 
table.  As  its  light  fell  on  the  harsh  features  of 
the  men,  a  ray  passed  between  two  of  them,  and 
struck  her  pale  face.  Her  father  saw  her  and 
stared  in  astonishment. 

"By  heaven  !"  he  cried.  "What  does  the  wench 
here?"  No  one  answered;  but  all  turned  and 
looked  at  her  where  she  cowered  back  against  the 
stove.  "Go,  girl!"  Toussaint  cried,  beside  him- 
self with  passion.  "Begone!  and  presently  I  will 
deal  with  you !" 

"Nay,  stop!"  La  Noue  interposed.  "Your 
daughter  knows  too  much.  We  cannot  let  her  go 
thus." 

"Knows  too  much?  How?"  and  the  citizen 
tossed  his  head  like  a  bull  balked  in  his  charge. 
"What  does  she  know?" 

"His  majesty " 

"Nay,  let  his  majesty  speak  for  himself — for 
once,"  said  the  man  with  the  grey  eyes;  and  even 
in  her  terror  and  confusion  Madeline  saw  that  all 
turned  to  him  with  a  single  movement.  "  Mistress 
Toussaint  did  but  chat  with  La  Noue  and  myself, 
during  her  father's  absence.  True,  she  knows  us ; 
or  one  of  us.  But  if  any  be  to  blame  it  is  I.  Let 
her  stay.  I  will  answer  for  her  fidelity." 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  123 

"Nay,  but  she  is  a  woman,  sire,"  some  one 
objected. 

"Ay,  she  is,  good  Poulain,"  and  Henry  turned 
to  the  speaker  with  a  singularly  bright  smile. 
"So  we  are  safe;  for  there  is  no  woman  in  France 
would  betray  Henry  of  Bourbon!" 

A  laugh  went  round.  Some  one  mentioned  the 
Duchess. 

"True !"  said  Henry,  for  Henry  it  was,  he  whom 
the  Leaguers  called  the  Bearnais  and  the  Politiques 
the  King  of  Navarre,  but  whom  later  generations 
have  crowned  as  the  first  of  French  kings — Henry 
the  Great.  "True!  I  had  forgotten  her.  I  must 
beware  of  her  golden  scissors.  We  have  two 
crowns  already,  and  want  not  another  of  her  mak- 
ing. But  come,  let  us  to  business  without  farther 
delay.  Be  seated,  gentlemen;  be  seated  without 
ceremony :  and  while  we  consider  whether  our 
plans  hold  good,  Mistress  Toussaint — "  he  paused 
and  turned,  to  look  kindly  at  the  terrified  girl — 
"will  play  the  sentry  for  us." 

Madeline's  presence  within  a  few  feet  of  their 
council-board  was  soon  forgotten  by  the  eager 
men  who  sat  round  the  table.  And  in  a  sense  she 
forgot  them.  She  heard,  it  is  true,  their  hopes 
and  plans,  of  which  the  chief,  and  that  which 
brought  them  together  to-day,  was  a  scheme  to 
surprise  Paris  by  introducing  men  hidden  in  carts 
laden  with  hay.  She  heard  how  Henry  and  La 
Noue  had  entered,  and  who  had  brought  them  in, 


124  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

and  how  it  was  proposed  to  smuggle  them  out 
again;  and  many  details  of  men  and  means  and 
horses;  and  who  were  loyal  and  who  disaffected, 
and  who  might  be  bought  over,  and  at  what 
price.  She  even  took  note  of  the  manner  of  each 
speaker  as  he  leaned  forward,  and  brought  his  face 
within  the  circle  of  light,  marking  who  were  known 
to  her  before,  substantial  citizens  these,  constant 
at  mass  and  market;  and  who  were  strangers, 
men  fiercer  looking,  thinner,  haughtier,  more  rest- 
less, with  the  stamp  of  constant  peril  at  the 
corners  of  their  eyes,  and  swords  some  inches 
longer  than  their  neighbours'. 

She  saw  and  heard  all  this,  and  more,  and  rea- 
soned dully  on  it.  But  all  the  time  her  mind  was 
paralysed  by  the  numbing  sense  of  one  great  evil 
awaiting  her,  of  something  with  which  she  must 
presently  come  face  to  face,  though  her  faculties 
had  not  grasped  it  yet.  Men's  lives !  Ah,  yes, 
men's  lives  !  The  girl  had  been  bred  a  Huguenot. 
She  had  been  taught  to  revere  the  men  of  the  reli- 
gion, the  men  whose  names  were  household  words ; 
and  not  the  weakness  of  the  cause,  not  even  her 
lover's  influence,  had  sapped  her  loyalty  to  it. 

Presently  there  was  a  stir  about  the  table. 
Some  of  the  men  rose.  "Then  that  arrangement 
meets  your  views,  sire?"  said  La  Noue. 

"I  think  it  is  the  better  suggestion.  Let  it 
hold.  I  sleep  to-night  at  my  good  friend  Ma- 
zeau's,"  the  king  answered,  turning  to  the  person 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  125 

he  named;  "and  leave  to-morrow  about  noon 
by  St.  Martin's  gate.  That  is  understood,  is  it? 
Then  let  it  stand  so." 

He  did  not  see — none  of  them  saw — how  the  girl 
in  the  shadow  by  the  stove  started ;  nor  did  they 
mark  how  the  last  trace  of  colour  fled  from  her 
cheeks.  She  was  face  to  face  with  her  fate  now, 
and  knew  that  her  own  hand  must  work  it 
out.  The  men  were  separating.  Henry  had  risen 
and  was  bidding  farewell  to  one  and  another; 
until  no  more  than  four  or  five  beside  Toussaint 
and  La  Noue  remained  with  him.  Then  he  pre- 
pared himself  to  go,  and  girt  on  his  sword,  talk- 
ing earnestly  the  while.  Still  engaged  in  low  con- 
verse with  one  of  the  strangers,  he  walked  slowly, 
lighted  by  his  host  to  the  door ;  he  had  forgotten 
to  take  leave  of  the  girl.  In  another  minute  he 
and  they  would  have  disappeared  in  the  passage, 
when  a  hoarse  sound  escaped  from  Madeline's  lips. 

It  was  not  so  much  a  cry  as  a  groan,  but  it 
was  enough  for  men  whose  nerves  were  strained  to 
the  breaking  point.  All— at  the  moment  they  had 
their  backs  to  her,  their  faces  to  the  king — turned 
swiftly.  "Ha!"  Henry  cried  on  the  instant,  "I 
had  forgotten  my  manners.  I  was  leaving  my 
most  faithful  sentry  without  a  word  of  thanks, 
or  a  keepsake  by  which  to  remember  Henry  of 
France." 

She  had  risen,  and  was  supporting  herself — but 
she  swayed  as  she  stood — by  the  arm  of  the  chair. 


126  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Never  had  her  lover  been  so  dear  to  her;  never 
had  his  faults  seemed  so  small,  his  love  so  pre- 
cious. As  the  king  approached,  the  light  fell  on 
her  face,  on  her  agonized  eyes,  and  he  stopped 
short.  " Toussaint ! "  he  cried  sharply,  "your 
daughter  is  ill.  Look  to  her ! "  But  it  was  no- 
ticeable that  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

"Stay!"  she  cried,  the  word  ringing  shrilly 
through  the  room.  "  You  are  betrayed  !  There  is 
some  one— there ! "  she  pointed  to  the  closet — "  who 
has  heard — all !  All !  Oh,  sire,  mercy  !  mercy  ! " 

As  the  last  words  passed  the  girl's  writhing  lips 
she  clutched  at  her  throat :  she  seemed  to  fight  a 
moment  for  breath,  for  life :  then  with  a  stifled 
shriek  fell  in  a  swoon  to  the  ground. 

A  second's  silence.  Then  a  whistling  sound  as 
half  a  dozen  swords  were  snatched  from  the  scab- 
bards. The  veteran  La  Noue  sprang  to  the  door  : 
others  ran  to  the  windows  and  stood  before  them. 
Only  Henry — after  a  swift  glance  at  Toussaint, 
who,  pale  and  astonished,  leaned  over  his  daughter 
— stood  still,  his  fingers  on  his  hilt.  Another  sec- 
ond of  suspense,  and  before  any  one  spoke,  the 
cupboard  door  swung  slowly  open,  and  Felix  Por- 
tail,  pale  to  the  lips,  stood  before  them. 

"What  do  you  here?"  cried  Henry,  restraining 
by  a  gesture  those  who  would  have  instantly 
flung  themselves  upon  the  spy. 

"I  came  to  see  her,"  Felix  said.  He  was  quite 
calm,  but  a  perspiration  cold  as  death  stood  on 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  127 

his  brow,  and  his  dilated  eyes  wandered  from 
one  to  another.  "You  surprised  me.  Toussaint 
knows — that  I  was  her  sweetheart,"  he  murmured. 

"Ay,  wretched  man,  you  came  to  see  her !  And 
for  what  else?"  Henry  replied,  his  eyes,  as  a  rule, 
so  kindly,  bent  on  the  other  in  a  gaze  fixed  and 
relentless. 

A  sudden  visible  quiver — as  it  were  the  agony  of 
death — shot  through  PortaiTs  frame.  He  opened 
his  mouth,  but  for  a  while  no  sound  came.  His 
eyes  sought  the  nearest  sword  with  a  horrid  side- 
glance.  "Kill  me  at  once,"  he  gasped,  "before 
she — before ' ' 

He  never  finished  the  sentence.  With  an  oath 
the  nearest  Huguenot  lunged  at  his  breast,  and 
fell  back  foiled  by  a  blow  from  the  king's  hand. 
"Back  !"  cried  Henry,  his  eyes  flashing  as  another 
sprang  forward,  and  would  have  done  the  work. 
"Will  you  trench  on  the  King's  justice  in  his 
presence?  Sheath  your  swords,  all  save  the  Sieur 
de  la  Noue,  and  the  gentlemen  who  guard  the 
windows ! " 

"He  must  die!"  several  voices  cried;  and  two 
men  still  pressed  forward  viciously. 

"Think,  sire!  Think  what  you  do,"  cried  fea 
Noue  himself,  warning  in  his  voice.  "He  has  in 
his  hand  the  life  of  every  man  here!  And  they 
are  your  men,  risking  all  for  the  crown." 

"True,"  Henry  replied  smiling;  "but  I  ask  no 
man  to  run  a  risk  I  will  not  take  myself," 


128  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

A  murmur  of  dissatisfaction  burst  forth.  Sev- 
eral who  had  sheathed,  drew  their  swords  again. 
"I  have  a  wife  and  child  1"  cried  one,  bringing  his 
point  to  the  thrust.  "He  dies!" 

"  He  dies  ! "  cried  another  following  his  example. 
And  the  two  pressed  forward. 

"He  does  not  die!"  exclaimed  the  King,  his 
voice  so  ringing  through  the  room  that  all  fell 
back  once  more ;  fell  back  not  so  much  because  it 
was  the  king  who  spoke  as  in  obedience  to  the 
voice  which  two  years  before  had  rallied  the  flying 
squadrons  at  Arques,  and  years  before  that  had 
rung  out  hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day  above 
the  long  street  fight  of  Cahors.  "He  does  not 
die!"  repeated  Henry,  looking  from  one  to  an- 
other, with  his  chin  thrust  out,  and  his  eyes  glit- 
tering. "France  speaks,  dare  any  contradict. 
Surely,  my  masters,  there  are  no  traitors  here!" 

"Your  majesty,"  said  La  Noue  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "commands  our  lives." 

"Thanks,  Francis,"  Henry  replied,  instantly 
changing  his  tone.  "And  now  hear  me,  gentle- 
men. Think  you  that  it  was  a  light  thing  in  this 
girl  to  give  up  her  lover?  She  might  have  let  us 
go  to  our  doom,  and  we  none  the  wiser !  Would 
you  take  her  gift  and  make  her  no  requital? 
That  were  not  just !  That  were  not  royal !  That 
cannot  the  King  of  France  do  I  And  now  for  you, 
sir"— he  turned  with  another  manner  to  Felix, 
who  was  leaning  half-fainting  against  the  wall— 


FOR  THE  CAUSE  129 

"hearken  to  me.  You  shall  go  free.  I,  who  this 
morning  played  the  son  to  your  dead  father,  I 
give  you  your  life  for  your  sweetheart's  sake.  For 
her  sake  be  true.  You  shall  go  out  alive  and  safe 
into  the  streets  of  Paris,  which  five  minutes  ago 
you  little  thought  to  see  again.  The  girl  you  love 
has  ransomed  you  :  go  therefore  and  be  worthy  of 
her.  Or  if  I  am  wrong,  if  you  still  will  betray  me 
—still  go  !  Go  to  be  damned  to  all  eternity  !  Go, 
to  leave  a  name  that  shall  live  for  centuries — and 
stand  for  treachery!" 

He  spoke  the  last  words  with  such  scorn  that  a 
murmur  of  applause  broke  out  even  among  those 
stern  men.  He  took  instant  advantage  of  it. 
"  Now  go  ! "  he  said  hurriedly.  "You  can  take  the 
girl  with  you.  She  has  but  fainted.  A  kiss  will 
bring  her  to  life.  Go,  and,  as  you  love,  be  silent." 

The  man  took  up  his  burden  and  went,  trem- 
bling; still  unable  to  speak.  But  no  hand  was 
now  raised  to  stop  him. 

When  he  had  disappeared,  La  Noue  turned  to  the 
king.  "You  will  not  now  sleep  at  Mazeau's,  sire?" 

Henry  rubbed  his  chin.  "Yes;  let  the  plan 
stand,"  he  answered  after  a  brief  pause.  "If  he 
betray  one,  he  shall  betray  all." 

"But  this  is  madness,"  La  Noue  urged. 

The  King  shook  his  head,  and  smiling,  clapped 
the  veteran  on  the  shoulder.  "Not  so,"  he  said. 
"The  man  is  no  traitor :  I  say  it.  And  you  have 
never  met  with  a  longer  head  than  Henry's." 


130  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Never,"  assented  La  None  bluntly,  "save  when 
there  is  a  woman  in  it ! " 

The  curtain  falls.  The  men  have  lived  and  are 
dead.  La  None,  the  Huguenot  Bayard,  now  ex- 
ists only  in  a  dusty  memoir  and  a  page  of  Mot- 
ley. Madame  de  Montpensier  is  forgotten;  all  of 
her,  save  her  golden  scissors.  Mayenne,  D'Aumale, 
a  verse  preserves  their  names.  Only  Henry — the 
"good  King,"  as  generations  of  French  peasants 
called  him — remains  a  living  figure :  his  strength 
and  weakness,  his  sins  and  virtues,  as  well  known, 
as  thoroughly  appreciated  by  thousands  now  as 
in  the  days  of  his  life. 

It  follows  that  we  cannot  hope  to  learn  much  of 
the  fortunes  of  people  so  insignificant — save  for 
that  moment  when  the  fate  of  a  nation  hung  on 
their  breath — as  the  Portails  and  Toussaints.  We 
do  know  that  Felix  proved  worthy.  For  though 
the  attack  on  Paris  which  was  planned  at  Tous- 
saint's  house,  failed,  it  did  not  fail  through  treach- 
ery. And  we  know  that  Felix  married  Madeline, 
and  that  Adrian  won  Marie :  but  no  more.  Unless 
certain  Portails  now  living  in  various  parts  of  the 
world,  whose  ancestors  left  France  at  the  time  of 
the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  are  their 
descendants.  And  certainly  it  is  curious  that  in 
these  families  it  is  not  rare  to  find  the  eldest  son 
bearing  the  name  of  Henry,  and  the  second  of 
Felix, 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM 

IN  the  days  when  Henry  the  Fourth  of  France 
was  as  yet  King  of  Navarre  only,  and  in  that 
little  kingdom  of  hills  and  woods  which  occupies 
the  south-western  corner  of  the  larger  country, 
was  with  difficulty  supporting  the  Huguenot  cause 
against  the  French  court  and  the  Catholic  League 
— in  the  days  when  every  little  moated  town,  from 
the  Dordogne  to  the  Pyrenees,  was  a  bone  of  con- 
tention between  the  young  king  and  the  crafty 
queen-mother,  Catherine  de  Medicis,  a  conference 
between  these  warring  personages  took  place  in 
the  picturesque  town  of  La  Eeole.  And  great  was 
the  fame  of  it. 

La  Reole  still  rises  grey,  time-worn,  and  half- 
ruined  on  a  lofty  cliff  above  the  broad  green 
waters  of  the  Garonne,  forty  odd  miles  from  Bor- 
deaux. It  is  a  small  place  now,  but  in  the  days 
of  which  we  are  speaking  it  was  important, 
strongly  fortified,  and  guarded  by  a  castle  which 
looked  down  on  some  hundreds  of  red-tiled  roofs, 
rising  in  terraces  from  the  river.  As  the  meeting- 
place  of  the  two  sovereigns  it  was  for  the  time  as 
gay  as  Paris  itself.  Catherine  had  brought  with 
her  a  bevy  of  fair  maids  of  honour,  and  trusted 
more  perhaps  in  the  effect  of  their  charms  than  in 


132  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

her  own  diplomacy.  But  the  peaceful  appearance 
of  the  town  was  as  delusive  as  the  smooth  bosom 
of  the  Gironde ;  for  even  while  every  other  house  in 
its  streets  rang  with  music  and  silvery  laughter, 
each  party  was  ready  to  fly  to  arms  at  a  word 
if  it  saw  that  any  advantage  could  be  gained 
thereby. 

On  an  evening  shortly  before  the  end  of  the  con- 
ference two  men  were  seated  at  play  in  a  room, 
the  deep-embrasured  window  of  which  looked  down 
from  a  considerable  height  upon  the  river.  The 
hour  was  late;  below  them  the  town  lay  silent. 
Outside,  the  moonlight  fell  bright  and  pure  on 
sleeping  fields,  on  vineyards,  and  dark  far-spread- 
ing woods.  Within  the  room  a  silver  lamp  sus- 
pended from  the  ceiling  threw  light  upon  the 
table,  but  left  the  farther  parts  of  the  chamber  in 
shadow.  The  walls  were  hung  with  faded  tapestry, 
and  on  a  low  bedstead  in  one  corner  lay  a  hand- 
some cloak,  a  sword,  and  one  of  the  clumsy  pis- 
tols of  the  period.  Across  a  high-backed  chair  lay 
another  cloak  and  sword,  and  on  the  window 
seat,  beside  a  pair  of  saddle-bags,  were  strewn 
half  a  dozen  trifles  such  as  soldiers  carried  from 
camp  to  camp — a  silver  comfit-box,  a  jewelled 
dagger,  a  mask,  a  velvet  cap. 

The  faces  of  the  players,  as  they  bent  over  the 
cards,  were  in  shadow.  One — a  slight,  dark  man 
of  middle  height,  with  a  weak  chin — and  a  mouth 
that  would  have  equally  betrayed  its  weakness 


THE  KING'S  STKATAGEM  133 

had  it  not  been  shaded  by  a  dark  moustache — 
seemed,  from  the  occasional  oaths  which  he  let 
drop,  to  be  losing  heavily.  Yet  his  opponent,  a 
stouter  and  darker  man,  with  a  sword-cut  across 
his  left  temple,  and  the  swaggering  air  that  has 
at  all  times  marked  the  professional  soldier, 
showed  no  signs  of  triumph  or  elation.  On  the 
contrary,  though  he  kept  silence,  or  spoke  only  a 
formal  word  or  two,  there  was  a  gleam  of  anxiety 
and  suppressed  excitement  in  his  eyes;  and  more 
than  once  he  looked  keenly  at  his  companion,  as 
if  to  judge  of  his  feelings  or  to  learn  whether  the 
time  had  come  for  some  experiment  which  he  medi- 
tated. But  for  this,  an  observer  looking  in 
through  the  window  would  have  taken  the  two 
for  that  common  conjunction — the  hawk  and  the 
pigeon. 

At  last  the  younger  player  threw  down  his  cards 
with  an  exclamation. 

"You  have  the  luck  of  the  evil  one,"  he  said, 
bitterly.  "How  much  is  that?" 

"Two  thousand  crowns,"  the  other  replied 
without  emotion.  "You  will  play  no  more?" 

"No!  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  never  played  at 
all ! "  was  the  answer.  As  he  spoke  the  loser  rose, 
and  moving  to  the  window  stood  looking  out. 
For  a  few  moments  the  elder  man  remained  in  his 
seat,  gazing  furtively  at  him;  at  length  he  too 
rose,  and,  stepping  softly  to  his  companion,  he 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  "Your  pardon  a 


134  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

moment,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said.  "  Am  I  right  in 
concluding  that  the  loss  of  this  sum  will  incon- 
venience you?" 

"A  thousand  fiends!"  the  young  gamester  ex- 
claimed, turning  on  him  wrathmlly.  "Is  there 
any  man  whom  the  loss  of  two  thousand  crowns 
would  not  inconvenience?  As  for  me " 

"For  you,"  the  other  continued  smoothly,  fill- 
ing up  the  pause,  "shall  I  be  wrong  in  supposing 
that  it  means  something  like  ruin?" 

"Well,  sir,  and  if  it  does?"  the  young  man  re- 
torted ;  and  he  drew  himself  up,  his  cheek  a  shade 
paler  with  passion.  "  Depend  upon  it  you  shall  be 
paid.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  that ! " 

"Gently,  gently,  my  friend,"  the  winner  an- 
swered, his  patience  in  strong  contrast  to  the 
other's  violence.  "I  had  no  intention  of  insulting 
you,  believe  me.  Those  who  play  with  the  Vi- 
comte de  Noirterre  are  not  wont  to  doubt  his 
honour.  I  spoke  only  in  your  own  interest.  It 
has  occurred  to  me,  Vicomte,  that  the  matter  may 
be  arranged  at  less  cost  to  yourself." 

"How?"  was  the  curt  question. 

"May  I  speak  freely?"  The  Vicomte  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  the  other,  taking  silence  for 
consent,  proceeded:  "You,  Vicomte,  are  governor 
of  Lusigny  for  the  King  of  Navarre ;  I,  of  Creance, 
for  the  King  of  France.  Our  towns  lie  but  three 
leagues  apart.  Could  I  by  any  chance,  say  on 
one  of  these  fine  nights,  make  myself  master  of 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  135 

Lusigny,  it  would  be  worth  more  than  two  thou- 
sand crowns  to  me.  Do  you  understand?" 

"No,"  the  young  man  answered  slowly,  "I  do 
not." 

"Think  over  what  I  have  said,  then,"  was  the 
brief  answer. 

For  a  full  minute  there  was  silence  in  the  room. 
The  Vicomte  gazed  from  the  window  with  knitted 
brows  and  compressed  lips,  while  his  companion, 
seated  near  at  hand,  leant  back  in  his  chair, 
with  an  air  of  affected  carefulness.  Outside,  the 
rattle  of  arms  and  hum  of  voices  told  that  the 
watch  were  passing  through  the  street.  The 
church  bell  rang  one  o'clock.  Suddenly  the  Vi- 
comte burst  into  a  forced  laugh,  and,  turning, 
took  up  his  cloak  and  sword.  "The  trap  was 
well  laid,  M.  le  Capitaine,"  he  said  almost  jovi- 
ally; "but  I  am  still  sober  enough  to  take  care 
of  myself — and  of  Lusigny.  I  wish  you  good 
night.  You  shall  have  your  money,  do  not  fear." 

"Still,  I  am  afraid  it  will  cost  you  dearly,"  the 
Captain  answered,  as  he  rose  and  moved  towards 
the  door  to  open  it  for  his  guest.  And  then,  when 
his  hand  was  already  on  the  latch,  he  paused. 
"My  lord,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  say  to  this, 
then?  I  will  stake  the  two  thousand  crowns  you 
have  lost  to  me,  and  another  thousand  to  boot — 
against  your  town.  Oh,  no  one  can  hear  us.  If 
you  win  you  go  off  a  free  man  with  my  thousand. 
If  you  lose,  you  put  me  in  possession — one  of  these 


136  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

fine  nights.  Now,  that  is  an  offer.  What  do  you 
say  to  it?  A  single  game  to  decide." 

The  younger  man's  face  reddened.  He  turned ; 
his  eyes  sought  the  table  and  the  cards ;  he  stood 
irresolute.  The  temptation  came  at  an  unfortu- 
nate moment;  a  moment  when  the  excitement  of 
play  had  given  way  to  depression,  and  he  saw 
nothing  outside  the  door,  on  the  latch  of  which 
his  hand  was  laid,  but  the  bleak  reality  of  ruin. 
The  temptation  to  return,  the  thought  that  by  a 
single  hand  he  might  set  himself  right  with  the 
world,  was  too  much  for  him.  Slowly— he  came 
back  to  the  table.  "Confound  you!"  he  said 
passionately.  "  I  think  you  are  the  devil  himself ! " 

"Don't  talk  child's  talk!"  the  other  answered 
coldly,  drawing  back  as  his  victim  advanced.  "If 
you  do  not  like  the  offer  you  need  not  take  it." 

But  the  young  man  was  a  born  gambler,  and 
his  fingers  had  already  closed  on  the  cards.  Pick- 
ing them  up  idly  he  dropped  them  once,  twice, 
thrice  on  the  table,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  the 
play-fever.  "If  I  win?"  he  said  doubtfully. 
"What  then?  Let  us  have  it  quite  clearly." 

"You  carry  away  a  thousand  crowns,"  the 
Captain  answered  quietly.  "If  you  lose  you  con- 
trive to  leave  one  of  the  gates  of  Lusigny  open 
for  me  before  next  full  moon.  That  is  all." 

"And  what  if  I  lose,  and  do  not  pay  the  for- 
feit?" the  Vicomte  asked,  laughing  weakly. 

"I  trust  to   your   honour,"   the   Captain   an- 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  137 

swered.  And,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  he  knew  his 
man.  The  young  noble  of  the  day  might  betray 
his  cause  and  his  trust,  but  the  debt  of  honour 
incurred  at  play  was  binding  on  him. 

"Well,"  said  the  Vicomte,  with  a  deep  breath, 
"I  agree.  Who  is  to  deal?" 

"As  you  will,"  the  Captain  replied,  masking 
under  an  appearance  of  indifference  the  excitement 
which  darkened  his  cheek,  and  caused  the  pulse  in 
the  old  wound  on  his  face  to  beat  furiously. 

"Then  do  you  deal,"  said  the  Vicomte. 

"With  your  permission,"  the  Captain  assented. 
And  gathering  the  cards  he  dealt  them  with  a 
practised  hand,  and  pushed  his  opponent's  six 
across  to  him. 

The  young  man  took  up  the  hand  and,  as  he 
sorted  it,  and  looked  from  it  to  his  companion's 
face,  he  repressed  a  groan  with  difficulty.  The 
moonlight  shining  through  the  casement  fell  in 
silvery  sheen  on  a  few  feet  of  the  floor.  With  the 
light  something  of  the  silence  and  coolness  of  the 
night  entered  also,  and  appealed  to  him.  For  a 
few  seconds  he  hesitated.  He  made  even  as  if  he 
would  have  replaced  the  hand  on  the  table.  But 
he  had  gone  too  far  to  retrace  his  steps  with 
honour.  It  was  too  late,  and  with  a  muttered 
word,  which  his  dry  lips  refused  to  articulate,  he 
played  the  first  card. 

He  took  that  trick  and  the  next :  they  were 
secure. 


138  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"And  now,"  said  the  Captain,  who  knew  well 
where  the  pinch  came.  "What  next?" 

The  Vicomte  compressed  his  lips.  Two  courses 
were  open  to  him.  By  adopting  one  he  could 
almost  for  certain  win  one  more  trick :  by  the 
other  he  might  just  possibly  win  two  tricks.  He 
was  a  gamester;  he  adopted  the  latter  course. 
In  half  a  minute  it  was  over.  He  had  lost ! 

The  winner  nodded  gravely.  "The  luck  is  with 
me  still,"  he  said,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  table 
that  the  light  of  triumph  which  had  leapt  into 
them  might  not  be  seen.  "When  do  you  go  back 
to  your  command,  Vicomte?" 

The  unhappy  man  sat,  as  one  stunned,  his  eyes 
on  the  painted  cards  which  had  cost  him  so 
dearly.  "The  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  muttered 
at  last,  striving  to  collect  himself. 

"Then  shall  we  say — the  following  evening?" 
the  Captain  asked  courteously. 

The  young  man  shivered.  "As  you  will,"  he 
muttered. 

"We  quite  understand  one  another,"  continued 
the  winner,  eyeing  his  man  watchfully,  and  speak- 
ing with  more  urgency.  "I  may  depend  on  you, 
M.  le  Vicomte,  I  presume — to  keep  your  word?" 

"The  Noirterres  have  never  been  wanting  to 
their  word,"  the  young  nobleman  answered  stung 
into  passing  passion.  "  If  I  live  I  will  put  Lusigny 
into  your  hands,  M.  le  Capitaine.  Afterwards  I 
will  do  my  best  to  recover  it — in  another  way." 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  139 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  meet  you  in  that 
way,"  replied  the  Captain,  bowing  lightly.  And 
in  one  more  minute,  the  door  of  his  lodging  had 
closed  on  the  other ;  and  he  was  alone — alone  with 
his  triumph,  his  ambition,  his  hopes  for  the  future 
— alone  with  the  greatness  to  which  his  capture  of 
Lusigny  was  to  be  the  first  step.  He  would  enjoy 
that  greatness  not  a  whit  the  less  because  fortune 
had  hitherto  dealt  out  to  him  more  blows  than 
caresses,  and  he  was  still  at  forty,  after  a  score  of 
years  of  roughest  service,  the  governor  of  a  paltry 
country  town. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  darkness  of  the  narrow  streets, 
the  Vicomte  was  making  his  way  to  his  lodgings 
in  a  state  of  despair  difficult  to  describe,  impos- 
sible to  exaggerate.  Chilled,  sobered,  and  af- 
frighted he  looked  back  and  saw  how  he  had 
thrown  for  all  and  lost  all,  how  he  had  saved  the 
dregs  of  his  fortune  at  the  expense  of  his  loyalty, 
how  he  had  seen  a  way  of  escape — and  lost  it  for 
ever !  No  wonder  that  as  he  trudged  through  the 
mud  and  darkness  of  the  sleeping  towrn  his  breath 
came  quickly  and  his  chest  heaved,  and  he  looked 
from  side  to  side  as  a  hunted  animal  might  look, 
uttering  great  sighs.  Ah,  if  he  could  have  retraced 
the  last  three  hours !  If  he  could  have  undone 
that  he  had  done! 

In  a  fever,  he  entered  his  lodging,  and  securing 
the  door  behind  him  stumbled  up  the  stone  stairs 
and  entered  his  room.  The  impulse  to  confide  his 


140  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

misfortunes  to  some  one  was  so  strong  upon  him 
that  he  was  glad  to  see  a  dark  form  half  sitting, 
half  lying  in  a  chair  before  the  dying  embers  of  a 
wood  fire.  In  those  days  a  man's  natural  confi- 
dant was  his  valet,  the  follower,  half  friend,  half 
servant,  who  had  been  born  on  his  estate,  who  lay 
on  a  pallet  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  who  carried  his 
billets-doux  and  held  his  cloak  at  the  duello,  who 
rode  near  his  stirrup  in  fight  and  nursed  him  in 
illness,  who  not  seldom  advised  him  in  the  choice 
of  a  wife,  and  lied  in  support  of  his  suit. 

The  young  Vicomte  flung  his  cloak  over  a 
chair.  "Get  up,  you  rascal!"  he  cried  impa- 
tiently. "You  pig,  you  dog  !"  he  continued,  with 
increasing  anger.  "  Sleeping  there  as  though  your 
master  were  not  ruined  by  that  scoundrel  of  a 
Breton !  Bah  ! "  he  added,  gazing  bitterly  at  his 
follower,  "you  are  of  the  canaille,  and  have  neither 
honour  to  lose  nor  a  town  to  betray ! " 

The  sleeping  man  moved  in  his  chair  but  did 
not  awake.  The  Vicomte,  his  patience  exhausted, 
snatched  the  bonnet  from  his  head,  and  threw  it 
on  the  ground.  "Will  you  listen?"  he  said.  "Or 
go,  if  you  choose  look  for  another  master.  I  am 
ruined  !  Do  you  hear?  Ruined,  Gil !  I  have  lost 
all — money,  land,  Lusigny  itself — at  the  cards!" 

The  man,  roused  at  last,  stooped  with  a  sleepy 
movement,  and  picking  up  his  hat  dusted  it  with 
his  hand,  then  rose  with  a  yawn  to  his  feet. 

"I  am  afraid,  Vicomte,"  he  said,  in  tones  that, 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  141 

quiet  as  they  were,  sounded  like  thunder  in  the 
young  man's  astonished  and  bewildered  ears,  "I 
am  afraid  that  if  you  have  lost  Lusigny — you 
have  lost  something  which  was  not  yours  to 
lose!" 

As  he  spoke  he  struck  the  embers  with  his  boot, 
and  the  fire,  blazing  up,  shone  on  his  face.  The 
Vicomte  saw,  with  stupor,  that  the  man  before 
him  was  not  Gil  at  all — was  indeed  the  last  person 
in  the  world  to  whom  he  should  have  betrayed 
himself.  The  astute  smiling  eyes,  the  aquiline 
nose,  the  high  forehead,  and  projecting  chin,  which 
the  short  beard  and  moustache  scarcely  concealed, 
were  only  too  well  known  to  him.  He  stepped 
back  with  a  cry  of  despair.  "Sir!"  he  said,  and 
then  his  tongue  failed  him.  His  arms  dropped  by 
his  sides.  He  stood  silent,  pale,  convicted,  his  chin 
on  his  breast.  The  man  to  whom  he  had  con- 
fessed his  treachery  was  the  master  whom  he  had 
agreed  to  betray. 

"I  had  suspected  something  of  this,"  Henry  of 
Navarre  continued,  after  a  lengthy  pause,  and 
with  a  tinge  of  irony  in  his  tone.  "  Rosny  told  me 
that  that  old  fox,  the  Captain  of  Creance,  was 
affecting  your  company  somewhat  too  much,  M. 
le  Vicomte,  and  I  find  that,  as  usual,  his  suspi- 
cions were  well-founded.  What  with  a  gentleman 
who  shall  be  nameless,  who  has  bartered  a  ford 
and  a  castle  for  the  favour  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Luynes,  and  yourself,  and  another  I  know  of— I 


142  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

am  blest  with  some  faithful  followers,  it  seems ! 
For  shame !  for  shame,  sir ! "  he  continued  seating 
himself  with  dignity  in  the  chair  from  which  he 
had  risen,  but  turning  it  so  that  he  confronted  his 
host,  "have  you  nothing  to  say  for  yourself?" 

The  young  noble  stood  with  bowed  head,  his 
face  white.  This  was  ruin,  indeed,  absolute,  ir- 
remediable ruin.  "Sir,"  he  said  at  last,  "your 
Majesty  has  a  right  to  my  life,  not  to  my 
honour." 

"Your  honour!"  Henry  exclaimed,  biting  con- 
tempt in  his  tone. 

The  young  man  started,  and  for  a  second  his 
cheek  flamed  under  the  well-deserved  reproach; 
but  he  recovered  himself.  "  My  debt  to  your  Ma- 
jesty," he  said,  "I  am  willing  to  pay." 

"Since  pay  you  must,"  Henry  muttered  softly. 

"  But  I  claim  to  pay  also  my  debt  to  the  Cap- 
tain of  Creance." 

The  King  of  Navarre  stared.  "Oh,"  he  said. 
"So  you  would  have  me  take  your  worthless  life, 
and  give  up  Lusigny?" 

"I  am  in  your  hands,  sire." 

"Pish,  sir!"  Henry  replied  in  angry  astonish- 
ment. "You  talk  like  a  child.  Such  an  offer,  M. 
de  Noirterre,  is  folly,  and  you  know  it.  Now  listen 
to  me.  It  was  lucky  for  you  that  I  came  in  to- 
night, intending  to  question  you.  Your  madness 
is  known  to  me  only,  and  I  am  willing  to  over- 
look it.  Do  you  hear?  I  am  willing  to  pardon.. 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  143 

Cheer  up,  therefore,  and  be  a  man.  You  are 
young ;  I  forgive  you.  This  shall  be  between  you 
and  me  only,"  the  young  prince  continued,  his 
eyes  softening  as  the  other's  head  sank  lower, 
"and  you  need  think  no  more  of  it  until  the  day 
when  I  shall  say  to  you,  'Now,  M.  de  Noirterre, 
for  Navarre  and  for  Henry,  strike ! '  : 

He  rose  as  the  last  words  passed  his  lips,  and 
held  out  his  hand.  The  Vicomte  fell  on  one  knee, 
and  kissed  it  reverently,  then  sprang  to  his  feet 
again.  "Sire,"  he  said,  his  eyes  shining,  "you 
have  punished  me  heavily,  more  heavily  than  was 
needful.  There  is  only  one  way  in  which  I  can 
show  my  gratitude,  and  that  is  by  ridding  you  of 
a  servant  who  can  never  again  look  your  enemies 
in  the  face." 

"What  new  folly  is  this?"  Henry  asked  sternly. 
"Do  you  not  understand  that  I  have  forgiven 
you?" 

"Therefore  I  cannot  betray  Lusigny,  and  I  must 
acquit  myself  of  my  debt  to  the  Captain  of  Cre- 
ance  in  the  only  way  which  remains,"  the  young 
man  replied  firmly.  "  Death  is  not  so  hard  that  I 
would  not  meet  it  twice  over  rather  than  again 
betray  my  trust." 

"This  is  midsummer  madness!"  said  the  King, 
hotly. 

"Possibly,"  replied  the  Vicomte,  without  emo- 
tion; "yet  of  a  kind  to  which  your  Grace  is  not 
altogether  a  stranger." 


144  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

The  words  appealed  to  that  love  of  the  fanciful 
and  the  chivalrous  which  formed  part  of  the 
young  King's  nature,  and  was  one  cause  alike  of 
his  weakness  and  his  strength.  In  its  more  ex- 
travagant flights  it  gave  opportunity  after  oppor- 
tunity to  his  enemies,  in  its  nobler  and  saner 
expressions  it  won  victories  which  all  his  astute- 
ness and  diplomacy  could  not  have  compassed. 
He  stood  now,  looking  with  half-hidden  admira- 
tion at  the  man  whom  two  minutes  before  he  had 
despised. 

"I  think  you  are  in  jest,"  he  said  presently  and 
with  some  scorn. 

"No,  sir,"  the  young  man  answered,  gravely. 
"In  my  country  they  have  a  proverb  about  us. 
'The  Noirterres,'  say  they,  'have  ever  been  bad 
players  but  good  payers.'  I  will  not  be  the  first 
to  be  worse  than  my  name!" 

He  spoke  with  so  quiet  a  determination  that  the 
King  was  staggered,  and  for  a  minute  or  two 
paced  the  room  in  silence,  inwardly  reviling  the 
obstinacy  of  this  weak-kneed  supporter,  yet  unable 
to  withhold  his  admiration  from  it.  At  length  he 
stopped,  with  a  low  exclamation. 

"Wait!"  he  cried.  "I  have  it!  Ventre  Saint 
Gris,  man,  I  have  it!"  His  eyes  sparkled,  and, 
with  a  gentle  laugh,  he  hit  the  table  a  sounding 
blow.  "  Ha !  ha !  I  have  it ! "  he  repeated  gaily. 

The  young  noble  gazed  at  him  in  surprise,  half 
suspicious,  half  incredulous.  But  when  Henry  in 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  145 

IQW,  rapid  tones  had  expounded  his  plan,  the 
young  man's  face  underwent  a  change.  Hope  and 
life  sprang  into  it.  The  blood  flew  to  his  cheeks. 
His  whole  aspect  softened.  In  a  moment  he  was 
on  his  knee,  mumbling  the  prince's  hand,  his  eyes 
moist  with  gratitude.  Nor  was  that  all ;  the  two 
talked  long,  the  murmur  of  their  voices  broken 
more  than  once  by  the  ripple  of  laughter.  When 
they  at  length  separated,  and  Henry,  his  face  hid- 
den by  the  folds  of  his  cloak,  had  stolen  to  his 
lodgings,  where,  no  doubt,  more  than  one  watcher 
was  awaiting  him  with  a  mind  full  of  anxious 
fears,  the  Vicomte  threw  open  his  window  and 
looked  out  on  the  night.  The  moon  had  set,  but 
the  stars  still  shone  peacefully  in  the  dark  canopy 
above.  He  remembered,  his  throat  choking  with 
silent  emotion,  that  he  was  looking  towards  his 
home — the  round  towers  among  the  walnut  woods 
of  Navarre  which  had  been  in  his  family  since  the 
days  of  St.  Louis,  and  which  he  had  so  lightly 
risked.  And  he  registered  a  vow  in  his  heart  that 
of  all  Henry's  servants  he  would  henceforth  be  the 
most  faithful. 

Meanwhile  the  Captain  of  Creance  was  enjoying 
the  sweets  of  his  coming  triumph.  He  did  not 
look  out  into  the  night,  it  is  true — he  was  over  old 
for  sentiment — but  pacing  up  and  down  the  room 
he  planned  and  calculated,  considering  how  he 
might  make  the  most  of  his  success.  He  was  still 

comparatively  young.    He  had  years  of  strength 
10 


146  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

before  him.  He  would  rise  high  and  higher.  He 
would  not  easily  be  satisfied.  The  times  were 
troubled,  opportunities  were  many,  fools  not  few ; 
bold  men  with  brains  and  hands  were  rare. 

At  the  same  time  he  knew  that  he  could  be  sure 
of  nothing  until  Lusigny  was  actually  in  his  pos- 
session; and  he  spent  the  next  few  days  in  pain- 
ful suspense.  But  no  hitch  occurred  nor  seemed 
likely.  The  Vicomte  made  him  the  necessary  com- 
munications; and  men  in  his  own  pay  informed 
him  of  dispositions  ordered  by  the  governor  of 
Lusigny  which  left  him  in  no  doubt  that  the  loser 
intended  to  pay  his  debt. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  heart  already  gay  with 
anticipation  that  the  Captain  rode  out  of  Creance 
two  hours  before  midnight  on  an  evening  eight 
days  later.  The  night  was  dark,  but  he  knew  his 
road  well.  He  had  with  him  a  powerful  force, 
composed  in  part  of  thirty  of  his  own  garrison, 
bold  hardy  fellows,  and  in  part  of  six  score  horse- 
men, lent  him  by  the  governor  of  Montauban.  As 
the  Vicomte  had  undertaken  to  withdraw,  under 
some  pretence  or  other,  one-half  of  his  command 
and  to  have  one  of  the  gates  opened  by  a  trusty 
hand,  the  Captain  foresaw  no  difficulty.  He  trot- 
ted along  in  excellent  spirits,  now  stopping  to 
scan  with  approval  the  dark  line  of  his  troopers, 
now  to  bid  them  muffle  the  jingle  of  their  swords 
and  corselets  that  nevertheless  rang  sweet  music  in 
his  ears,  He  looked  for  an  easy  victory;  but  it 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  147 

was  not  any  slight  misadventure  that  would  rob 
him  of  his  prey.  If  necessary  he  would  fight  and 
fight  hard.  Still,  as  his  company  wound  along 
the  river-side  or  passed  into  the  black  shadow  of 
the  oak  grove,  which  stands  a  mile  to  the  east  of 
Lusigny,  he  did  not  expect  that  there  would  be 
much  fighting. 

Treachery  alone,  he  thought,  could  thwart  him ; 
and  of  treachery  there  was  no  sign.  The  troopers 
had  scarcely  halted  under  the  last  clump  of  trees 
before  a  figure  detached  itself  from  one  of  the 
largest  trunks,  and  advanced  to  the  Captain's 
rein.  The  Captain  saw  with  surprise  that  it  was 
the  Vicomte  himself.  For  a  second  he  thought 
that  something  had  gone  wrong,  but  the  young 
noble's  first  words  reassured  him.  "It  is  ar- 
ranged," M.  de  Noirterre  whispered,  as  the  Cap- 
tain bent  down  to  him.  "I  have  kept  my  word, 
and  I  think  that  there  will  be  no  resistance.  The 
planks  for  crossing  the  moat  lie  opposite  the  gate. 
Knock  thrice  at  the  latter,  and  it  will  be  opened. 
There  are  not  fifty  armed  men  in  the  place." 

"Good!"  the  Captain  answered,  in  the  same 
cautious  tone.  "But  you " 

"I  am  believed  to  be  elsewhere,  and  must  be 
gone.  I  have  far  to  ride  to  night.  Farewell." 

"Till  we  meet  again,"  the  Captain  answered; 
and  without  more  he  saw  his  ally  glide  away  and 
disappear  in  the  darkness.  A  cautious  word  set 
the  troop  in  motion,  and  a  very  few  minutes  saw 


148  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

them  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  moat,  the  out- 
line of  the  gateway  tower  looming  above  them,  a 
shade  darker  than  the  wrack  of  clouds  which  over- 
head raced  silently  across  the  sky.  A  moment  of 
suspense  while  one  and  another  shivered — for  there 
is  that  in  a  night  attack  which  touches  the  nerves 
of  the  stoutest— and  the  planks  were  found,  and  as 
quietly  as  possible  laid  across  the  moat.  This  was 
so  skilfully  done  that  it  evoked  no  challenge  and 
the  Captain  crossing  quickly  with  a  fewr  picked 
men,  stood  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  under  the 
shadow  of  the  gateway.  Still  no  sound  was  heard 
save  the  hurried  breathing  of  those  at  his  elbow, 
the  stealthy  tread  of  others  crossing,  the  persis- 
tent voices  of  the  frogs  in  the  water  beneath. 
Cautiously  he  knocked  three  times  and  waited. 
The  third  rap  had  scarcely  sounded  before  the 
gate  rolled  silently  open,  and  he  sprang  in,  fol- 
lowed by  his  men. 

So  far  so  good.  A  glance  at  the  empty  street 
and  the  porter's  pale  face  told  him  at  once  that 
the  Vicomte  had  kept  his  word.  But  he  was  too 
old  a  soldier  to  take  anything  for  granted,  and 
forming  up  his  men  as  quickly  as  they  entered,  he 
allowed  no  one  to  advance  until  all  were  inside, 
and  then,  his  trumpet  sounding  a  wrild  note  of 
defiance,  two-thirds  of  his  force  sprang  forward  in 
a  compact  body  while  the  other  third  remained  to 
hold  the  gate.  In  a  moment  the  town  awoke  to 
find  itself  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  149 

As  the  Vicomte  had  promised,  there  was  no  re- 
sistance. In  the  small  keep  a  score  of  men  did 
indeed  run  to  arms,  but  only  to  lay  their  weapons 
down  without  striking  a  blow  when  they  became 
aware  of  the  force  opposed  to  them.  Their  leader, 
sullenly  acquiescing,  gave  up  his  sword  and  the 
keys  of  the  town  to  the  victorious  Captain ;  who, 
as  he  sat  his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the  market- 
place, giving  his  orders  and  sending  off  riders 
with  the  news,  already  saw  himself  in  fancy  Gov- 
ernor of  Angouleme  and  Knight  of  the  Holy 
Ghost. 

As  the  red  light  of  the  torches  fell  on  steel  caps 
and  polished  hauberks,  on  the  serried  ranks  of 
pikemen,  and  the  circle  of  whitefaced  townsfolks, 
the  picturesque  old  square  looked  doubly  pic- 
turesque and  he  who  sat  in  the  midst,  its  master, 
doubly  a  hero.  Every  five  minutes,  with  a  clatter 
of  iron  on  the  rough  pavement  and  a  shower  of 
sparks,  a  horseman  sprang  away  to  tell  the  news 
at  Montauban  or  Cahors;  and  every  time  that 
this  occurred,  the  Captain,  astride  on  his  charger, 
felt  a  new  sense  of  power  and  triumph. 

Suddenly  the  low  murmur  of  voices  about  him 
was  broken  by  a  new  sound,  the  distant  beat  of 
hoofs,  not  departing  but  arriving,  and  coming 
each  moment  nearer.  It  was  but  the  tramp  of  a 
single  horse,  but  there  was  something  in  the  sound 
which  made  the  Captain  prick  his  ears,  and  se- 
cured for  the  arriving  messenger  a  speedy  passage 


150  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

through  the  crowd.  Even  at  the  last  the  man  did 
not  spare  his  horse,  but  spurred  through  the 
ranks  to  the  Captain's  very  side,  and  then  and 
then  only  sprang  to  the  ground.  His  face  was 
pale,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot.  His  right  arm  was 
bound  up  in  bloodstained  cloths.  With  an  oath  of 
amazement,  the  Captain  recognized  the  officer 
whom  he  had  left  in  charge  of  Creance,  and  he 
thundered,  "What  is  this?  What  is  it?" 

"They  have  got  Creance!"  the  man  gasped, 
reeling  as  he  spoke.  "They  have  got — Cre- 
ance!" 

"Who?"  the  Captain  shrieked,  his  face  purple 
with  rage. 

"The  little  man  of  Beam!  The  King  of  Na- 
varre! He  assaulted  it  five  hundred  strong  an 
hour  after  you  left,  and  had  the  gate  down  before 
we  could  fire  a  dozen  shots.  We  did  what  we 
could,  but  we  were  but  one  to  seven.  I  swear, 
Captain,  that  we  did  all  we  could.  Look  at 
this!" 

Almost  black  in  the  face,  the  Captain  swore  an- 
other oath.  It  was  not  only  that  he  saw  gover- 
norship and  honours  vanish  like  Will-o'-the-wisps, 
but  that  he  saw  even  more  quickly  that  he  had 
made  himself  the  laughing-stock  of  a  kingdom ! 
And  that  was  the  truth.  To  this  day,  among  the 
stories  which  the  southern  French  love  to  tell  of 
the  prowess  and  astuteness  of  their  great  Henry, 
there  is  no  tradition  more  frequently  told,  none 


THE  KING'S  STRATAGEM  151 

more  frequently  made  the  subject  of  mirth,  than 
that  of  the  famous  exchange  of  Creance  for  Lu- 
signy;  of  the  move  by  which  between  dawn  and 
sunrise,  without  warning,  without  a  word,  he  gave 
his  opponents  mate. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL 

IN  the  summer  of  1706,  two  years  after  the 
second  battle  of  Hochstett,  which  Englishmen  call 
Blenheim,  in  a  world  ringing  with  the  names  of 
Marlborough  and  Eugene,  Louis  of  Baden  and 
Villars,  Villeroy  the  Incapable  and  Boufflers  the 
Brave — a  world,  for  us  of  later  days,  of  dark 
chaos,  luridly  lit  by  the  flames  of  burning  ham- 
lets, and  galloped  through  by  huge  troopers 
wearing  periwigs  and  thigh  boots,  and  carrying 
pistols  two  feet  long  in  the  barrel— one  of  the 
Austrian  captains  sat  down  before  the  frontier 
town  of  Huymonde,  in  Spanish  Flanders,  and  pre- 
pared to  take  it. 

Whereat  Huymonde  was  not  too  greatly  or  too 
fearfully  moved.  A  warm  town,  of  fat  burghers 
and  narrow  streets,  and  oak  wainscots  that 
winked  in  the  firelight,  and  burnished  flagons  that 
caught  the  drinker's  smile,  it  was  not  to  be  lightly 
excited;  and  it  had  been  besieged,  heaven  only 
knows  how  many  times  before.  Men  made  ready 
as  for  a  long  frost,  took  count  of  wine  and  pro- 
visions, and  hiding  a  portion  of  each  under  the 
cellar  floor,  thanked  God  that  they  were  not 
the  garrison,  and  that  times  were  changed  since 
the  Thirty  Years'  War.  These  things  done  and  the 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          153 

siege  formed,  they  folded  their  hands  and  let  them- 
selves slide  into  the  current  of  an  idle  life,  flecked 
from  time  to  time  with  bubbles  of  excitement. 
When  the  Austrian  guns  rumbled  without,  and 
the  smoke  eddied  slowly  over  the  walls,  they 
stood  in  the  streets,  their  hands  in  their  muffs, 
and  gossiped  not  unpleasantly ;  when  the  cannon 
were  silent  they  smoked  their  long  pipes  on  the 
ramparts,  and  measured  the  advance  of  the  trench- 
es, and  listened  while  the  oldest  inhabitant  prosed 
of  the  sack  by  Spinola  in  '24  and  the  winter  siege 
of  '41. 

Whether  the  good  townsfolk  were  as  brave  in 
private — when  at  home  with  their  wives,  for  in- 
stance— may  be  doubted ;  but  this  for  certain,  the 
Burgomaster's  trouble  lay  all  with  the  women. 
Whether  they  had  less  faith  in  the  great  Louis, 
Fourteenth  of  the  name,  King  of  France — who, 
indeed,  seemed  in  these  days  less  superior  to  a 
world  in  arms  than  in  the  dawn  of  his  glory — or 
they  found  the  oldest  inhabitant's  tales  too  pre- 
cisely to  the  point,  they  had  a  way  of  growing 
restive  once  a  week,  besieged  the  good  Burgo- 
master's house,  and  demanded— with  a  thousand 
shrill  and  voluble  tongues— immediate  surrender 
on  terms.  Between  whiles,  being  busy  with  scrub- 
bing and  baking,  and  washing  their  children,  they 
were  quiet  enough.  But  as  surely  as  Sunday  came 
round,  and  with  it  a  clean  house  and  leisure  to 
chat  with  the  neighbours,  the  Burgomaster's  hour 


154  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

came  too,  and  with  it  the  mob  of  women  shaking 
crooked  fingers  at  him,  and  bursting  his  ears 
with  their  shrill  abuse.  He  was  a  bold  man,  but 
he  began  to  dream  at  night  of  De  Witt  and  his 
fate — of  which  he  knew,  with  many  gruesome  par- 
ticulars ;  and,  from  a  stout  and  pompous  burgher, 
he  dwindled  in  six  weeks  to  a  lean  and  morose 
old  tyrant.  Withal  he  had  no  choice,  for  at  his 
shoulder  lurked  the  French  Commandant,  a  reso- 
lute man  with  a  wit  of  his  own  and  a  pet  cur- 
tain— between  the  Stadthaus  bastion  and  the  bas- 
tion of  the  Bronze  Horse,  and  very  handy  to  the 
former — whereat  he  shot  deserters  and  the  like  on 
the  smallest  pretext. 

Still,  the  Burgomaster,  as  he  wiped  his  sallow 
face,  and  watched  the  last  of  the  women  with- 
draw on  the  seventh  Sunday  of  the  Siege,  began 
to  think  that,  rather  than  pass  through  this 
again,  he  would  face  even  the  curtain  and  a  vol- 
ley; if  he  were  sure  that  one  volley  would  do  it, 
and  no  botching.  The  ordeal  had  been  more  se- 
vere than  usual :  his  cheek  still  twitched,  and  he 
leaned  against  his  official  table  to  belie  his  trem- 
bling knees.  He  had  been  settling  a  change  of  bil- 
lets, when  the  viragos  broke  in  on  him,  and  only 
his  clerk  had  been  present;  for  his  council — and 
this  he  felt  sorely— much  bullied  in  old  days,  were 
treating  him  to  solitude  and  the  monopoly  of  the 
burden.  His  clerk  was  with  him  now ;  but  affected 
to  be  busy  with  the  papers  on  the  table.  Per- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          155 

haps  he  was  scared  too,  and  equally  bent  on  hid- 
ing it ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  the  Burgomaster  who 
first  discovered  that  they  were  not  alone,  but  that 
one  woman  still  lingered.  She  had  placed  her- 
self in  a  corner  of  the  oak  seat  that  ran  round 
the  panelled  room;  and  the  stained  glass  of  the 
windows,  blazoned  with  the  arms  of  Huymonde 
and  the  Counts  of  Flanders,  cast  a  veil  of  tawny 
lights  between  her  and  the  gazer ;  behind  which  she 
seemed  to  lurk.  The  Burgomaster  started,  then 
remembered  that  the  danger  was  over  for  the 
time — he  was  not  afraid  of  one  woman ;  and  in  a 
harsh  voice  he  bade  her  follow  her  mates. 

"Begone,  wench!"  he  said.  "And  go  to  your 
prayers!  That  is  women's  work.  Leave  these 
things  to  men." 

The  woman  rose  to  her  full  height.  "When 
men,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  at  which  the  Bur- 
gomaster started  afresh,  "hide  themselves,  it  is 
time  women  stood  forward.  Where  is  your  son?" 

The  Burgomaster  swore. 

"Where  is  your  son?"  the  woman,  repeated 
firmly. 

The  Burgomaster  swore  again,  his  sallow  face 
grown  purple :  then  he  looked  at  his  clerk  and 
signed  to  him  to  go.  The  clerk  went,  wondering 
and  gaping— for  this  was  unusual— and  the  two 
were  left  together. 

At  that  the  Burgomaster  found  his  voice. 
"You  Jezebel !"  he  cried,  approaching  the  woman. 


156  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"How  dare  you  come  here  to  make  mischief? 
How  dare  you  lay  your  tongue  to  my  son's 
name?  Do  you  know,  shameless  one,  that  if  I 
were  to  give  the  word " 

But  at  that  word  the  woman  caught  fire,  blazed 
up,  and  outdid  him  in  rage.  She  was  a  middle- 
aged  woman  and  spare,  with  a  face  naturally 
pale  and  refined,  and  an  air  of  pride  that  peeped 
even  through  the  neat  poverty  of  her  dress.  But 
at  that  word  she  shook  her  hands  in  his  face 
and  her  eyes  blazed. 

"Shameless?"  she  retorted.  "No,  but  shame- 
ful; and  through  whom?  Through  your  son, 
your  villain,  your  craven  of  a  son  who  hides  now ! 
Through  your  base-born  tradesman  of  a  son  who 
dare  face  neither  woman  nor  man." 

"Silence!"  the  Burgomaster  cried.      "Silence!" 

She  broke  off,  but  only  to  throw  her  whole  soul 
into  one  breathless  cry. 

"Will  he  marry  her?"  she  panted;  and  she  held 
out  her  hands  to  him,  palm  uppermost.  "Will 
he  marry  her?  In  a  word." 

"No,"  the  Burgomaster  answered  grimly. 

She  flung  up  her  arms. 

"Then  beware!"  she  cried  wildly,  and  for  the 
first  time  she  raised  her  voice  to  the  pitch  of  those 
other  shrews.  "Beware!  You  and  yours  have 
brought  us  to  shame ;  but  the  end  is  not  yet,  the 
end  is  not  yet!  You  do  not  know  us." 

At  that  he  rallied  himself.    "I  may  not  know 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          157 

you  yet,"  he  said  hardily,  and  indeed  brutally; 
"but  I  know  this,  that  such  things  as  these  come, 
woman,  of  people  setting  themselves  up  to  be  bet- 
ter than  their  neighbours,  when  they  are  as  poor 
as  church  mice.  They  come  of  slighting  honest 
fellows  and  setting  caps  at  those  above  you. 
Your  daughter — or  you,  woman,  if  you  like  it  bet- 
ter— set  the  trap,  and  you  are  caught  in  it  your- 
selves. That  is  all." 

"You  wretch!"  she  gasped.  "And  he — will  not 
marry  her?" 

"Not  while  I  live,"  he  answered  firmly. 

"And  that  is  your  last  word?" 

"It  is,"  he  said.    "My  very  last." 

He  was  on  his  guard,  prepared  to  defend  him- 
self even  against  actual  violence.  For  he  knew 
what  angry  women  were  and  of  what  they  were 
capable  even  against  a  Burgomaster.  But  after  a 
tense  pause  of  suspense,  during  every  moment  of 
which  he  expected  her  to  fall  upon  him,  she  said 
only,  "Where  is  he?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  you,"  he  answered.  "Nor 
would  it  help  you  if  you  knew ! " 

"And  that  is  all?"    - 

"That  is  all." 

It  was  not  their  first  interview.  She  had  pled 
with  him  before,  and  knelt  and  wept  and  abased 
herself  before  him.  She  had  done  all  that  the 
love  that  tore  her  heartstrings— the  love  that 
made  it  so  much  more  difficult  to  see  her  child 


158  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

suffer  than  to  suffer  herself,  the  love  that  every 
moment  painted  the  bare  room  at  home,  and  her 
daughter  prostrate  there  in  shame  and  despair — 
she  had  done  all  that  even  love  could  suggest. 
There  was  no  room  therefore  for  farther  pleading, 
for  farther  prayers;  she  had  threatened,  and  she 
had  failed.  What,  then,  remained  to  be  done? 

Nothing,  the  Burgomaster  thought,  as  in  a 
flash  of  triumph  and  relief  he  watched  her  go, 
outfaced  and  defeated.  Nothing;  and  he  hugged 
himself  on  the  prudence  that  had  despatched  his 
son  out  of  the  way  in  time,  and  rendered  a  match 
with  that  proud  pauper  brat  impossible.  Noth- 
ing; but  to  the  woman,  as  she  went,  it  seemed 
that  everything  remained  to  be  done.  As  she  left 
the  little  square  with  its  tall  slender  gabled  houses 
and  plunged  into  the  narrow  street  that  led  to 
her  house  on  the  wall,  the  story  of  her  life  in 
Huymonde  spread  itself  before  her  in  a  string  of 
scenes  that  now— now  alas !  but  never  before — 
seemed  to  find  their  natural  sequence  in  this  tra- 
gedy. Nine  years  before  she  had  come  to  Huy- 
monde with  her  artist  husband ;  but  the  great 
art  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries 
was  already  dying  or  dead  in  Flanders,  and  with 
it  the  artistic  sense,  and  the  honour  once  paid  to 
it.  Huymonde  made  delft  still,  and  pottery,  but 
on  old  conventional  lines,  in  an  endless  repeti- 
tion of  old  formal  patterns,  with  no  touch  of  ge- 
nius or  appreciation.  Trade,  and  a  desire  to  win 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL    159 

the  florid  ease,  the  sleek  comfort  of  the  burgh- 
er, possessed  the  town  wholly.  The  artist  had 
found  himself  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land ;  had 
struggled  on,  despising  and  despised,  in  the  quaint 
house  on  the  wall,  at  which  he  had  snatched  on 
his  first  coming  because  it  looked  over  the  open 
country.  There,  after  seven  years,  he  had  slipped 
out  of  life,  scarcely  better  known,  and  no  whit 
more  highly  appreciated  than  on  the  day  of  his 
arrival. 

After  that  the  story  was  of  two  women  living 
,s'o/ci  cum  sola, — one  wholly  for  the  other— suspected, 
if  not  disliked,  by  their  neighbours,  and  for  their 
part  alien  in  all  their  thoughts  and  standards; 
since  the  artist's  widow  could  not  forget  that  he 
had  been  the  favourite  pupil  of  Peter  Paul's  old 
age,  or  that  her  father  had  counted  quarterings. 
tioki  cum  sola,  until  one  day  the  war  began,  and 
Huymonde  set  about  looking  to  its  defences. 
Then  a  young  man  appeared  on  a  certain  even- 
ing to  inspect  the  House  on  the  Wall,  and  see  that 
the  window,  which  looked  out  upon  the  level 
country  side,  was  safely  and  properly  built  up 
and  strengthened. 

"You  must  have  a  sergeant  and  guard  billeted 
here!"  was  his  first  sharp  word;  and  the  widow 
had  sighed  at  this  invasion  of  their  privacy,  which 
was  also  their  poverty.  But  the  young  girl,  stand- 
ing sideways  in  that  very  window,  which  was  to 
be  closed,  had  pouted  her  red  lips  and  frowned  on 


160  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  intruder,  and  the  sergeant  had  not  come,  nor 
the  guard.  Instead  the  young  man  had  returned, 
at  first  weekly,  then  at  shorter  intervals,  to  see 
that  the  window  defences  remained  intact;  and 
with  his  appearance  life  in  the  House  on  the  Wall 
had  become  a  different  thing.  He  was  the  son  of 
the  Burgomaster  of  the  town,  he  would  be  the 
richest  man  in  the  town,  his  wife  might  repay  with 
interest  and  advantage  the  dull  bovine  scorn  to 
which  the  city  dames  had  treated  her  mother.  The 
widow  permitted  herself  to  hope.  Her  child  was 
beautiful,  with  the  creamy  fairness  of  Gueldres, 
and  as  pure  as  the  sky.  The  young  man  was  gay 
and  handsome;  qualities  which  made  their  due 
impression  on  the  elder  woman's  heart,  long  un- 
familiar with  them.  So,  for  more  than  a  year  he 
had  had  the  run  of  the  house,  he  had  been  one 
of  the  family;  and  then  one  day  he  had  disap- 
peared, and  then  one  other  day 

Oh,  God  of  vengeance !  She  paused  in  the  dark- 
ening street,  as  she  thought  of  it.  Beside  her  a 
long  window,  warmly  curtained,  sent  out  a  stream 
of  ruddy  light.  From  the  opposite  house  issued 
cheery  voices  and  tinkling  laughter,  and  the  steam 
of  cooking.  And  before  and  behind,  whichever 
way  she  looked,  firelight  flashed  through  dia- 
mond panes  and  glowed  in  the  heart  of  green 
bottle-glass.  Out  in  the  street  men  shouldered 
past  her,  talking  blithely ;  and  in  distant  kitchens 
cups  clinked  and  ware  clattered,  and  every  house — 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          161 

every  house  from  garret  to  parlour,  seemed  to  her 
a  home  happy  and  gleeful.  A  home;  and  her 
home!  She  stood  at  the  thought  and  cursed 
them ;  cursed  them,  and  like  the  echo  of  her  whis- 
pered words  the  solemn  boom  of  a  cannon  floated 
over  the  town. 

A  chance  passer,  seeing  her  stand  thus,  caught 
the  whiteness  of  her  face,  and  thought  her  afraid. 
"Cheer  up,  mother!"  he  said  over  his  shoulder, 
"they  are  all  bark  and  little  bite!" 

"I  would  they  bit  to  the  bone!"  she  cried  in 
fury. 

But  luckily  he  was  gone  too  far  to  hear  or  to 
understand;  and,  resuming  her  course,  she  hur- 
ried on,  her  head  bowed.  A  few  minutes'  walking 
brought  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stone  steps  that, 
in  two  parallel  flights,  led  up  to  the  low-browed 
door  of  her  house.  There,  as  she  set  her  foot  on 
the  lowest  stair,  and  wearily  began  the  ascent,  a 
man  advanced  out  of  the  darkness  and  touched 
her  sleeve.  For  an  instant  she  thought  it  theman, 
and  she  caught  her  breath  and  stepped  back. 
But  his  first  word  showed  her  her  mistake. 

"You  live  here?"  he  said  abruptly.  "Can  I 
come  in?" 

In  ordinary  times  his  foreign  accent  and  the 
glint  of  a  pistol-barrel,  which  caught  her  eye  as 
he  spoke,  would  have  set  her  on  her  guard.  But 
to-night  she  had  nothing  to  lose — nothing,  it 

seemed  to  her,  to  hope.    She  scarcely  looked  at 
11 


162  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  man.  "As  you  please,"  she  said  dullj.  "What 
do  you  want?" 

"To  speak  to  you." 

"Come  in  then,"  she  said. 

She  did  not  turn  to  him  again  until  they  stood 
together  in  the  room  above,  and  the  door  was 
shut.  Then  she  asked  him  a  second  time  what  he 
wanted. 

"Are  we  alone?"  he  returned,  staring  suspi- 
ciously about  him. 

" My  daughter  is  above,"  she  answered.  "There 
is  no  one  else  in  the  house." 

"And  you  are  poor?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  indifferently,  and  by 
a  movement  of  her  hands  seemed  to  put  the  room 
in  evidence;  one  or  two  pictures,  standing  on 
easels,  and  a  few  common  painter's  properties  re- 
deemed it  from  utter  bareness,  utter  misery,  yet 
left  it  cold  and  faded. 

Nevertheless,  his  next  question  took  her  by 
surprise.  "What  rent  do  you  pay?"  he  asked 
harshly. 

"What  rent?"  she  repeated,  shaken  out  of  her 
moodiness. 

"Yes.    How  many  crowns?" 

"Twenty,"  she  answered  mechanically.  What 
was  his  aim?  What  did  he  want? 

"A  year?" 

"Yes,  a  year." 

The  man  had  a  round  shaven  whitish  face  that 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL         163 

sat  in  the  circle  of  a  tightly  tied  Steinkirk  cravat, 
like  an  ivory  ball  in  a  cup;  and  short  hair,  that 
might  on  occasion  line  a  periwig.  Notwithstand- 
ing his  pistol,  he  had  rather  the  air  of  a  trades- 
man than  a  soldier  until  you  met  his  eyes,  which 
flashed  with  a  keen  glitter  that  belied  his  smug 
face  and  shaven  cheeks.  Those  eyes  caught  the 
widow's  eyes  as  he  answered  her,  and  held  them. 

"  Twenty  crowns  a  year,"  he  said.  "  Then  listen. 
I  will  give  you  two  hundred  crowns  for  this  house 
— for  one  night." 

"For  this  house  for  one  night?"  she  repeated, 
thinking  she  had  not  heard  aright. 

"For  this  house,  for  one  night!"  he  answered. 

Then  she  understood.  She  was  quick-witted,  she 
had  lived  long  in  the  house  and  knew  it.  Without 
more  she  knew  that  God  or  the  devil  had  put  that 
which  she  sought  into  her  hands;  and  her  first 
impulse  was  to  pure  joy.  The  thirst  for  vengeance 
welled  up,  hot  and  resistless.  Now  she  could  be 
avenged  on  all;  on  the  hard-hearted  tyrant  who 
had  rejected  her  prayer,  on  the  sleek  dames  who 
would  point  the  finger  at  her  child,  on  the  smug 
town  that  had  looked  askance  at  her  all  these 
years— that  had  set  her  beyond  the  pale  of  its  dull 
grovelling  pleasures,  and  shut  her  up  in  that 
lonely  House  on  the  Wall !  Now — now  she  had  it 
in  her  hand  to  take  tenfold  for  one.  Her  face  so 
shone  at  the  thought  that  the  man  watching 
her  felt  a  touch  of  misgiving;  though  he  was  of 


164  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  boldest  or  he  had  not  been  there  on  that  er- 
rand. 

"When?"  she  said.    "When?" 

"To-morrow  night,"  he  answered.  And  then, 
leaning  forward,  and  speaking  lightly  but  in  a  low 
voice,  he  went  on,  "  It  is  a  simple  matter.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  find  a  lodging  and  begone  from 
here  by  sunset,  leaving  the  door  on  the  latch.  No 
more ;  for  the  money  it  shall  be  paid  to  you,  half 
to-night  and  half  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"I  want  no  money,"  she  said. 

"No  money?"  he  exclaimed  incredulously. 

"No,  no  money,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone  and 
with  a  look  that  silenced  him. 

"But  you  will  do  it?"  he  said,  almost  with 
timidity. 

"I  will  do  it,"  she  answered.  "At  sunset  to- 
morrow you  will  find  the  door  on  the  latch  and 
the  house  empty.  After  that  see  that  you  do  your 
part!" 

His  eyes  lightened.  "Have  no  fear,"  he  said 
grimly.  "But  mark  one  thing,  mistress,"  he  con- 
tinued. "It  is  an  odd  thing  to  do  for  nothing." 

"That  is  my  business!"  she  cried,  with  a  flash 
of  rage. 

He  had  been  about  to  warn  her  that  during  the 
next  twenty-four  hours  she  would  be  watched,  and 
that  on  the  least  sign  of  a  message  passing  be- 
tween her  and  those  in  authority  the  plot  would 
be  abandoned.  But  at  that  look  he  held  his 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          165 

peace,  said  curtly  that  it  was  a  bargain  then ;  and 
in  a  twinkling  he  was  gone,  leaving  her — leaving 
her  alone  with  her  secret. 

Yet  for  a  time  it  was  not  of  that  or  of  her  ven- 
geance that  she  thought.  Her  mind  was  busy 
with  the  years  of  solitude  and  estrangement  she 
had  passed  in  that  house  and  that  room ;  with  the 
depression  that  little  by  little  had  sapped  her 
husband's  strength  and  hope,  with  the  slow  decay 
of  their  goods,  their  cheerfulness,  even  the  artistic 
joys  that  had  at  first  upheld  them ;  with  the  aloof- 
ness that  had  doomed  her  and  her  child  to  a 
dreary  existence;  with  this  last  great  wrong. 

"Yes,  let  it  be!  let  it  be!"  she  cried.  In  fancy 
she  saw  the  town  lie  below  her — as  she  had  often 
seen  it  with  the  actual  eye  from  the  ramparts — 
she  saw  the  clustering  mass  of  warm  red  roofs  and 
walls,  the  outlying  towers,  the  church,  the  one 
long  straight  street;  and  with  outstretched  arm 
she  doomed  it — doomed  it  with  a  vengeful  sense  of 
the  righteousness  of  the  sentence. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  that  which  was  uppermost 
in  her  mind  and  steeled  her  soul  and  justified  the 
worst,  was  not  the  last  thing  of  which  she  had  to 
complain — her  daughter's  wrong — but  the  long 
years  of  loneliness,  the  hundred,  nay,  the  thou- 
sand, petty  slights  of  the  past,  bearable  at  the 
time  and  in  detail,  but  intolerable  in  the  retro- 
spect now  hope  was  gone.  She  dwelt  on  these, 
and  the  thought  of  what  was  coming  filled  her 


166  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

with  a  fearful  joy.  She  thought  of  them,  and  took 
the  lamp  and  passed  into  the  next  room,  and, 
throwing  the  light  on  the  rough  face  of  brickwork 
that  closed  the  great  window,  she  eyed  the  cracks 
eagerly,  and  scarcely  kept  her  fingers  from  begin- 
ning the  work.  For  she  understood  the  plot.  One 
man  working  silently  within,  in  darkness,  could 
demolish  the  wall  in  an  hour ;  then  a  whistle,  rope 
ladders,  a  line  of  men  ascending,  and  before  mid- 
night the  house  would  vomit  armed  men,  the  near- 
est gate  would  be  seized,  the  town  would  lie  at  the 
mercy  of  the  enemy  ! 

Presently  she  had  to  go  to  her  daughter,  but  the 
current  of  her  thoughts  kept  the  same  course. 
The  girl  was  sullen,  and  lay  with  her  face  to  the 
wall,  and  gave  short  answers,  venting  her  misery 
after  the  common  human  fashion  on  the  one  who 
loved  her  best.  The  mother  bore  it,  not  as  before 
Avith  the  patience  that  scorned  even  to  upbraid, 
but  grimly,  setting  down  each  peevish  word  to  the 
score  that  was  so  soon  to  be  paid.  She  lay  all 
night  beside  her  child,  and  in  the  small  hours 
heard  her  weep  and  felt  the  bed  shake  with  her 
unhappiness,  and  carried  the  score  farther;  nay, 
busied  herself  with  it,  so  that  day  and  the  twitter- 
ing of  sparrows  and  the  booming  of  the  early 
guns  took  her  by  surprise.  Took  her  by  surprise, 
but  worked  no  change  in  her  thoughts. 

She  was  so  completely  under  the  influence  of  the 
idea,  that  she  felt  no  fear ;  the  chance  of  discovery, 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL         167 

and  the  certainty  that  if  discovered  she  would  be 
done  to  death  without  mercy,  did  not  trouble  her 
in  the  least.  She  went  about  her  ordinary  tasks 
until  late  in  the  afternoon ;  then,  without  preface 
or  explanation,  she  told  her  daughter  that  she 
was  going  out  to  seek  a  lodging. 

The  girl  was  profoundly  astonished.  "A  lodg- 
ing?" she  cried,  sitting  up.  "For  us?" 

"Yes,"  the  mother  answered  coldly.  "For  whom 
do  you  think?" 

"And  you  will  leave  this  house?" 

"Yes." 

"But  when?" 

"To-night." 

"Leave  this  house — for  a  lodging — to-night?" 
the  girl  faltered.  She  could  not  believe  her  ears. 
"Why?  What  has  happened?" 

Then  the  woman,  in  the  fierceness  of  her  mood, 
turned  her  arms  against  her  child.  "Need  you 
ask?"  she  cried  bitterly.  "Do  you  want  to  go  on 
living  in  this  house— in  this  house,  which  was  your 
father's?  To  go  in  and  out  at  this  door,  and 
meet  our  neighbours  and  talk  with  them  on  these 
steps?  To  wait  here — here,  where  every  one  knows 
you,  for  the  shame  that  will  come?  For  the  man 
who  will  never  come?" 

The  girl  sank  back,  shuddering  and  weeping. 
The  woman  covered  her  head  and  went  out,  and 
presently  returned ;  and  in  the  grey  of  the  evening, 
which  within  the  walls  fell  early,  the  two  left  the 


168  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

house,  the  elder  carrying  a  bundle  of  clothes,  the 
younger  whimpering  and  wondering.  Stupefied  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  movement,  and  her  mother's 
stern  purpose,  she  did  not  observe  that  they  had 
left  the  door  on  the  latch,  and  the  House  on  the 
Wall  unguarded. 

The  people  with  whom  they  had  found  a  lodg- 
ing, a  little  room  under  the  sharply  sloping  tiles, 
knew  them  by  name  and  sight— that  in  so  small 
a  place  was  inevitable — but  found  nothing  strange 
in  the  woman's  reason  for  moving ;  she  said  that 
at  home  the  firing  broke  her  daughter's  rest.  The 
housewife  indeed  could  sympathize  with  her,  and 
did  so.  "I  never  go  to  bed  myself,"  she  said 
roundly,  "but  I  dream  of  those  wretches  sacking 
the  town,  and  look  to  awake  with  my  throat 
cut." 

"Tut— tut!"  her  husband  answered  angrily. 
"You  will  live  to  wag  your  tongue  and  make 
mischief  a  score  of  years  yet.  And  for  the  town 
being  sacked,  there  is  small  chance  of  that — in 
these  days." 

The  elder  of  his  new  lodgers  repeated  his  words. 
"Small  chance  of  that?"  she  said  mechanically. 
"Is  that  so?" 

The  man  looked  at  her  with  patronage.  "  Little 
or  none,"  he  said.  "If  we  have  to  cry  Enough, 
we  shall  cry  it  in  time,  and  on  terms  you  may  be 
sure;  and  they  will  march  in  like  gentlemen,  and 
an  end  of  it." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL         169 

"But  if  it  happen  at  night?"  the  woman  asked 
curiously.  She  felt  a  strange  compulsion  to  put 
the  question.  "If  they  should  take  us  by  sur- 
prise? What  then?" 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Well,  then, 
of  course,  things  might  be  different,"  he  said. 
"But,  sho !  it  won't  happen.  No  fear!"  he  con- 
tinued hastily,  and  in  a  tone  that  belied  his 
words.  "And  you,  wife,  get  back  to  your  pots 
and  leave  this  talking !  You  frighten  yourself  to 
death  with  imaginings!" 

The  woman  from  the  House  on  the  Wall  went 
upstairs  to  her  garret.  She  did  not  repent  of 
what  she  had  done;  but  a  sense  of  its  greatness 
began  to  take  hold  of  her,  and  whether  she  would 
or  not,  she  found  herself  waiting — waiting  and 
watching  for  she  alone  knew  what.  Given  a  com- 
panion less  preoccupied  with  misery  and  she  must 
have  been  suspected.  But  the  girl  lay  moodily  on 
her  bed,  and  the  widow  was  at  liberty  to  stand  at 
the  window  with  her  hands  spread  on  the  sill,  and 
look,  and  listen,  and  look,  and  listen,  unwatched. 
She  could  not  see  the  street,  for  below  their  dor- 
mer the  roof  ran  down  steeply  a  yard  or  more  to 
the  eaves;  but  she  had  full  command  of  the  op- 
posite houses,  and  at  one  of  the  windows  a  young 
girl  was  dressing  herself.  The  woman  watched  her 
plait  her  fair  hair,  looking  sideways  the  while  at 
a  little  mirror ;  and  saw  her  put  on  a  poor  neck- 
lace and  remove  it  again  and  try  a  piece  of  rib- 


170  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

bon.  Gradually  the  watcher  became  interested; 
from  interest  she  passed  to  speculation,  and  won- 
dered with  a  slight  shudder  how  this  girl  would 
fare  between  that  and  morning.  And  then  the 
girl  looked  up  and  met  the  woman's  eyes  with  the 
innocence  of  her  own — and  the  woman  fell  back 
from  the  window  as  if  a  hand  had  struck  her. 

She  went  no  more  after  that  to  the  window ;  but 
until  it  was  quite  dark  she  sat  in  a  chair  with  her 
hands  on  her  lap,  forcing  herself  to  quietude,  as 
women  will,  where  men  would  tramp  the  floor  un- 
ceasingly. When  it  was  quite  dark  she  trimmed 
and  lit  the  lamp,  and  still  she  did  not  repent. 
But  she  listened  more  and  more  closely,  and  with 
less  concealment.  And  the  face  of  the  girl  preen- 
ing herself  at  her  poor  mirror  returned  again  and 
again,  and  troubled  her.  She  could  contemplate 
the  fate  of  the  town  as  a  whole,  and  say,  let  it 
be!  Ay,  in  God's  name  let  it  be!  But  the  one 
face  seen  at  a  window,  the  one  case  brought  home 
to  her,  clung  to  her  mind,  and  pricked  and  pained 
her— dully. 

By-and-by  she  heard  the  clock  strike  ten,  and 
her  daughter,  turning  feverishly  on  the  bed,  asked 
her  peevishly  when  she  was  going  to  lie  down. 
"Presently,"  she  answered,  "presently."  And 
still  she  sat  and  listened,  and  still  the  girl's  face 
haunted  her.  She  began  to  picture  in  detail  the 
thing  for  which  she  was  waiting.  She  fancied  that 
she  could  hear  the  first  alert,  followed  by  single 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL         171 

cries,  these  by  a  roar  of  alarm,  this  by  the  wild 
rush  of  feet;  then  she  heard  the  crashing  volley, 
the  rattle  of  hoofs  on  the  pavement,  the  whirl  of 
the  flight  through  the  streets,  the  shouts  of  "Ger- 
many! Germany!"  as  the  troops  swept  in  tri- 
umphant! And  then — ah,  then! — she  heard  the 
things  that  would  follow,  the  crashing  in  of  doors, 
the  sudden  glare  of  flames,  the  screams  of  men 
driven  to  the  wall,  the  yells  of  drunken  Saxons, 
the  shrieks  of  women,  the 

No  more!  No  more!  She  could  not  bear  it. 
With  a  shudder  she  stood  erect,  and  looked  about 
her— wildly.  The  lamp  burned  low,  her  daughter 
was  asleep.  With  a  swift  movement  the  mother 
caught  up  a  shawl  that  lay  beside  the  bed,  and 
turned  to  the  door. 

Alas,  too  late.  She  had  repented,  but  too  late. 
With  her  hand  on  the  latch,  her  foot  on  the  thresh- 
old, she  stood,  arrested  by  a  low  distant  cry 
that  caught  her  ear,  and  swelled  even  as  she 
listened  to  it,  into  a  roar  of  many  voices  rousing 
the  town.  What  was  it?  Alas,  she  knew;  she 
knew,  and  cowered  against  the  door  white-faced 
and  shaking.  A  moment  passed,  and  the  alarm, 
after  sinking,  rose  again,  and  now  there  was  no 
doubt  of  its  meaning.  Shod  feet  pattered  through 
the  streets,  windows  clattered  up  noisily;  a  wild 
medley  of  voices  broke  out,  and  again  in  a  few 
seconds  was  lost  in  the  crashing  sound  of  the 
very  volley  she  had  foreheard ! 


172  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

From  that  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  hell 
was  broken  loose  in  the  town ;  and  she  had  loosed 
it !  She  could  no  longer,  in  the  din  that  rose 
from  the  street,  distinguish  one  sound  from  an- 
other ;  but  the  crash  of  distant  cannon,  the  heavy 
tramp  of  feet  near  at  hand,  the  screams  and  cries 
and  shouting,  the  blare  of  trumpets,  all  rose  in  a 
confused  babel  of  sounds  that  shook  the  very 
houses,  and  blanched  the  cheeks  and  drove  the 
blood  to  the  heart.  The  woman,  cowering  against 
the  door,  covered  her  ears,  and  groaned.  Her 
horror  at  what  she  had  done  was  so  great,  that 
she  did  not  heed  what  was  passing  near  her,  nor 
give  a  thought  to  the  child  in  the  same  room 
with  her  until  the  latter's  voice  struck  her  ear, 
and  she  turned  and  found  her  daughter  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  her  hand  to  her  breast, 
and  her  eyes  wide.  Then  the  mother  awoke  in 
her  again;  with  pallid  shaking  lips  she  cried  to 
her  to  lie  down— to  lie  down,  for  there  was  no 
danger. 

But  the  girl  raised  her  hand  for  silence. 
"Hush!"  she  said.  "I  hear  a  step!  It  is  his! 
It  is  his !  And  he  is  coming  to  me !  Mother,  he 
is  coming  to  me!" 

The  mother  imagined  that  terror  had  turned  the 
girl's  brain ;  it  was  inconceivable  that  in  that  roar 
of  sound  a  single  step  could  make  itself  heard,  or 
be  recognized.  And  she  tried,  in  a  voice  that 
shook  with  horror  and  remorse,  to  repeat  her 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          173 

meaningless  words  of  comfort.  But  they  died  on 
her  lips,  died  still-born,  as  the  door  flew  open,  and 
a  man  rushed  in,  gazed  an  instant,  then  caught 
her  child  in  his  arms. 

It  was  the  Burgomaster's  son ! 

The  woman  from  the  House  on  the  Wall  leaned 
an  instant  against  the  door-post,  gazing  at  them. 
Little  by  little  as  she  looked  the  expression  in  her 
eyes  changed,  and  they  took  the  cold,  fixed,  dis- 
tant look  of  a  sleep-walker.  A  moment  and  she 
drew  a  shuddering  breath,  and  turned  and  went 
out,  and,  groping  in  the  outside  darkness  for  the 
balustrade,  went  unfaltering  into  the  street. 

A  part  of  the  garrison  happened  to  be  retreating 
that  way  at  the  time.  A  few  were  still  turning  to 
fire  at  intervals;  but  the  greater  number  were 
hurrying  along  with  bent  heads,  keeping  close  to 
the  houses,  and  intent  only  on  escaping.  Reach- 
ing the  middle  of  the  roadway  she  stood  there 
like  a  rock,  her  face  turned  in  the  direction  whence 
the  fugitives  were  hastening. 

Presently  she  saw  that  for  which  she  waited. 
In  the  reek  of  smoke  about  the  burning  gate, 
towards  which  she  looked— and  the  flames  of  which 
filled  the  street  with  a  smoky  glare — the  glitter  of 
steel  shone  out ;  and  in  a  moment,  rank  on  rank, 
a  dense  column  of  men  appeared,  marching  shoul- 
der to  shoulder.  She  watched  them  come  nearer 
and  nearer,  filling  the  street  from  wall  to  wall, 
until  she  could  see  the  glare  of  their  eyes;  then 


174  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

with  a  cry  which  was  lost  in  the  tumult  she 
rushed  on  the  bayonets. 

With  eyes  shut,  with  arms  open  to  receive  the 
thrust.  But  the  man  whom  she  had  singled  out— 
for  one  she  had  singled  out — dropped  his  point 
with  an  oath,  and  dealt  her  a  buffet  with  butt  and 
elbow  that  flung  her  aside  unhurt.  A  second  did 
the  same,  and  a  third,  until,  bandied  from  one  to 
another,  she  fell  against  the  wall,  breathless  and 
dizzy,  but  unhurt. 

The  column  swept  on;  and  she  rose.  She  had 
escaped— by  a  miracle,  as  it  seemed  to  her.  But 
despair  still  held  her,  and  the  roar  of  a  mine  ex- 
ploding not  far  off,  the  stunning  report  of  wrhich 
was  followed  by  heartrending  wails,  drove  her 
again  on  her  fate.  She  had  not  far  to  look,  for 
hard  on  the  foot  followed  a  troop  of  dragoons. 
The  horses,  excited  by  the  fire  and  the  explosion, 
were  plunging  in  every  direction ;  and  even  as  the 
crazed  woman's  eyes  alighted  on  them  one  fell  and 
threw  its  rider.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  saw  her 
doom;  and,  darting  from  the  wall,  she  flung  her- 
self before  them. 

What  was  one  woman  on  such  a  night,  in  such 
an  inferno?  The  torrent  of  iron,  remorseless,  un- 
checked, thundered  over  her  and  drove  on  along 
the  street.  It  seemed  impossible  that  she  should 
have  escaped.  Yet  when  some  came  to  look  to  the 
fallen  soldier— whose  neck  was  broken— the  woman 
beside  him  rose  unhurt  and  without  a  scratch,  and 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  WALL          175 

staggered  to  the  wall.  There  she  leaned  one  mo- 
ment to  recover  her  breath  and  shake  off  her  gid- 
diness, and  a  second  to  think;  then  with  a  new 
expression  on  her  face,  an  expression  between  hope 
and  fear,  she  took  her  way  weakly  along  the 
street.  The  first  turning  on  the  right,  the  second 
on  the  left  brought  her  unmolested— for  the  enemy 
were  quelling  the  last  resistance  in  the  Square — to 
the  front  of  the  House  on  the  Wall.  She  looked 
up  eagerly  and  saw  that  the  windows  were  dark ; 
looked  at  the  door,  and  by  the  light  of  the  distant 
fire  saw  that  it  was  closed. 

Still  she  scarcely  dared  to  hope  that  the  thing 
was  true ;  that  thing  which  her  miraculous  escape 
had  suggested  to  a  mind  almost  unhinged.  It 
took  her  more  than  a  minute  to  mount  the  steps 
and  push  the  heavy  door  open,  and  satisfy  herself 
that  in  the  outer  room  at  least  all  was  as  she  had 
left  it.  A  spark  of  fire  still  glowed  on  the  hearth ; 
she  groped  her  way  to  it,  and  blew  it  into  a 
flame;  and  with  shaking  hands  she  lit  a  spill  of 
wood  and  waved  it  above  her  head,  then  held  it. 

Yes,  here  all  was  as  she  had  left  it.  But  in  the 
farther  room— the  room?  What  would  she  find 
there?  She  stared  at  the  door  and  dared  not 
open  it ;  then  with  a  desperate  hand  tore  it  open, 
and  stood  on  the  threshold. 

Yes,  and  here !  Here,  too,  all  was  as  she  had 
left  it.  She  waved  the  little  brand  above  her  head 
heedless  of  the  sparks,  waved  it  until  it  flamed 


176  IN  KINGS7  BYWAYS 

high  and  cast  a  light  into  every  corner.  But  the 
searcher's  eyes  sought  only  one  thing,  saw  only 
one  thing,  and  that  was  the  mask  of  brickwork 
that  blocked  the  great  window. 

It  was  untouched  !  It  was  untouched  !  She  had 
hoped  as  much  for  the  last  five  minutes;  for 
everything,  the  closed  door,  the  unchanged  room 
had  pointed  to  it.  Yet  now  that  she  was  assured 
of  it,  and  knew  for  certain  that  she  had  not  done 
the  thing — that  guilty  as  she  had  been  in  will,  not 
one  life  lost  that  night  lay  at  her  door,  not  one 
outrage,  she  fell  on  her  face  and  wept — wept, 
though  it  was  the  sweetest  moment  of  her  life, 
prayed  though  she  sought  nothing  but  to  thank 
God — prayed  and  wept  with  childish  cries  of  grati- 
tude, until  the  light  at  her  side  went  out  and  left 
her  in  darkness,  and  through  a  rift  in  the  masonry 
a  single  star  peered  in  at  her. 

In  Huymonde  there  was  wailing  enough  that 
night;  ruin  and  loss,  and  a  broadcasting  of  life- 
long sentences  of  penury.  One  fell  to  the  Burgo- 
master's lot ;  and  had  she  still  aught  against  him 
— but  she  had  not — the  score  was  paid.  And  many 
prayed,  and  a  few,  when  morning  came,  and 
showed  their  roofs  still  standing,  gave  thanks. 
But  to  this  woman  prostrate  through  the  hours 
on  the  floor  of  the  forsaken  House  on  the  Wall, 
all  that  night  was  one  long  prayer  and  thanks- 
giving. For  she  had  passed  through  the  fire,  the 
smell  of  the  singeing  was  on  her  garments,  and 
yet  she  was  saved. 


HUNT,  THE  OWLER 

(1696) 

SOMETHING  more  than  two  centuries  ago — and 
just  two  years  after  Queen  Mary's  death — when 
William  the  Third  had  been  eight  years  on  the 
throne,  and  the  pendulum  of  public  sentiment,  ac- 
celerated by  the  brusqueness  of  his  manners  and 
no  longer  retarded  by  his  consort's  good  nature, 
was  swinging  surely  and  steadily  to  the  Stuart 
side,  the  discovery  of  a  Jacobite  plot  to  assassi- 
nate the  King  on  his  return  from  hunting  set  back 
the  balance  with  a  shock  which  endured  to  the 
end  of  his  reign. 

It  was  the  King's  habit  to  go  on  Saturdays  in 
his  coach  to  Richmond  Park,  returning  to  Ken- 
sington in  the  evening ;  and  the  scheme,  laid  bare, 
was  to  fall  upon  him  in  a  narrow  lane  leading 
from  the  river  to  Turnham  Green,  where  the  miry 
nature  of  the  ground  rendered  his  progress  slow. 
For  complicity  in  this  plot  nine  persons,  differing 
much  in  rank,  from  Sir  John  Fenwick,  who  had 
been  Colonel  of  King  Charles's  Life  Guards,  to 
Keyes,  a  private  in  the  Blues,  suffered  on  the 
scaffold;  and  for  a  time  all  England  rang  with 
it.  The  informers,  Porter  and  Goodman,  were 

viewed  with  an  abhorrence  hardly  less  than  that 
12 


178  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

which  the  plot  itself  excited  in  honest  circles ;  and 
in  this  odium  a  man  shared  in  some  small  degree, 
who,  though  he  had  not  been  a  party  to  the  plot, 
had  stooped,  under  the  stress  of  confinement  and 
the  fear  of  death,  to  give  some  evidence. 

This  was  James  Hunt,  the  Owler,  or  smuggler,  a 
name  forgotten  now,  famous  then.  For  years  his 
house,  in  a  lonely  situation  in  the  dreariest  part 
of  Romney  Marsh,  had  been  the  favourite  house 
of  call  for  Jacobites  bound  for  St.  Germains  or 
returning  thence.  At  regular  intervals,  if  wind 
and  tide  served,  a  packet-boat  ran  between  it 
and  the  French  coast,  and  between  whiles  the 
hiding-places  in  his  rambling  old  house,  which  had 
been  originally  contrived  to  hold  runlets  of  Nantz 
and  bales  of  Lyons,  lodged  men  whose  faces  were 
known  in  the  Mall  and  St.  James's,  and  whose 
titles  were  not  less  real  because  for  the  nonce  they 
wore  them,  with  their  stars,  in  their  pockets. 
Naturally,  in  the  general  break-up  consequent  on 
the  discovery  of  the  Turnham  Green  plot,  these 
practices  came  to  light,  the  lonely  house  in  the 
marshes  was  entered,  and  Hunt  was  himself  seized 
and  conveyed  to  London  under  a  strong  guard. 
There  he  lay  in  the  Marshalsea  until,  by  discov- 
ering the  names  of  certain  persons  who  had  used 
his  hiding-places,  he  was  permitted  to  ransom  his 
life. 

When  all  was  told  he  was  of  no  further  use  to 
the  Government,  He  was  released,  and  one  fine 


HUNT  THE  OWLER  179 

morning  in  September,  '96,  he  walked  out  of  his 
prison  a  morose  and  lonely  man.  Resolute  and 
daring  by  nature,  but  accustomed  to  live  in  the 
open,  with  the  sound  of  the  lark  in  his  ears,  it 
was  only  in  the  solitude  of  his  cell  that  he  had 
fallen  below  himself.  Now,  under  the  open  sky,  he 
paid  the  penalty  in  a  load  of  shame  and  remorse. 
His  feet  carried  him  to  the  Jacobite  house  of  call 
in  Maiden  Lane,  whither  he  had  directed  his  nag 
to  be  sent;  but  on  his  arrival  at  the  inn  his  eye 
told  him  that  the  place  was  changed.  The  ostler, 
who  had  been  his  slave,  looked  askance  at  him, 
the  landlord,  once  his  obedient  servant,  turned 
his  back.  He  was  no  longer  Mr.  Hunt,  of  Rom- 
ney,  but  Hunt  the  Approver,  Hunt  the  Evidence. 
Flinging  down  a  crown  and  a  curse  he  rode  des- 
perately out  of  the  yard,  and  made  haste  to  leave 
London  behind  him. 

But  in  the  country  it  was  little  better.  At  inns 
on  the  Dover  road,  where  he  had  swaggered  in  old 
days  the  hero  of  a  transparent  mystery,  and 
only  less  admired  than  the  famous  Mr.  Birken- 
head,  the  Jacobite  post,  whom  even  the  Tower 
failed  to  confine — at  these  his  reception  was  now 
cold  and  formal ;  and  presently  the  man's  heart 
and  hopes  went  forward  and  settled  hungrily  on 
the  two  things  left  to  him  in  this  changed  world, 
his  home  in  the  marshes  and  his  girl.  His  heart 
cried  home !  The  slighting  looks  of  men  who 
would  have  succumbed  to  a  tithe  of  his  tempta- 


180  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

tions,  would  not  reach  him  there;  there — he  had 
a  reason  for  believing  it — he  would  still  read  love 
and  welcome  in  his  child's  eyes. 

He  was  so  far  from  having  a  turn  for  sentiment 
that  the  gibbet  at  Dartford,  though  he  had  lain 
down  and  risen  up  for  weeks  under  the  shadow  of 
the  gallows,  caused  him  no  qualms  as  he  passed 
under  it ;'  nor  the  man  who  hung  in  chains  upon 
it.  But  when  he  rode  up  to  the  tavern  at  the 
last  stage  short  of  Romney  and  saw  Trot  Eubank, 
the  Romney  apothecary,  loitering  before  the  house, 
he  drove  an  oath  through  his  closed  teeth. 

The  man  of  drugs  was  too  distant  to  hear  it; 
nevertheless  he  smiled,  and  not  pleasantly.  The 
apothecary  had  red  cheeks  and  a  black  wig,  and 
a  splayed  face  that  promised  heartiness.  His 
small  fishy  eyes,  however,  with  a  cast  in  them 
that  was  next  door  to  a  squint,  belied  the  prom- 
ise. He  came  up  to  Hunt's  stirrup  and  gave  him 
joy  of  his  freedom  very  loudly.  "And  you  will 
find  all  well  at  home,"  he  continued.  "All  well 
and  hearty." 

Hunt  thanked  him  coldly,  watered  his  horse, 
and  drank  a  cup  of  ale  with  the  landlord;  who 
looked  at  him  pitifully,  as  at  a  man  once  admi- 
rable and  now  fallen.  Then  he  climbed  into  his 
saddle  again  and  started  briskly.  But  he  had  not 
ridden  a  hundred  paces  before  Eubank,  on  his  old 
white  mare,  was  at  his  side.  "My  way  is  your 
way,"  said  he. 


HUNT  THE  OWLER  181 

Hunt  grunted,  and  wondered  how  long  that  had 
been  so;  for  New  Romney,  where  the  apothecary 
lived,  lay  to  the  right.  But  he  said  nothing. 

"They  have  quartered  three  soldiers  on  you," 
Eubank  continued,  squinting  out  of  the  corner  of 
one  eye  to  mark  the  effect  of  his  words,  "and  an 
officer." 

The  smuggler  checked  his  horse.  "As  if  I  had 
not  done  enough  for  them!"  he  cried  bitterly. 

"Umph!"  said  the  apothecary,  drily,  and  with 
meaning.  "  The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  noth- 
ing but  the  truth !  Eh,  Mr.  Hunt?" 

He  spoke  below  his  breath,  but  Hunt  caught 
the  words  and  turned  on  him,  his  face  blazing 
with  rage.  "You  dirty  tar-mixer!"  he  cried, 
flinging  caution  to  the  winds.  "What  do  you 
mean?  And  how  dare  you  ride  out  to  meet  me? 
If  you  have  anything  to  say,  say  it,  and  begone." 

"Softly,  softly,  Mr.  Hunt,"  Eubank  answered, 
his  face  a  shade  paler.  "You  know  what  I  mean. 
There  was  a  name  wanting  in  your  evidence — in 
your  deposition.  A  name  lacking,  d'ye  take  me?" 

"A  name?" 

"Ay,  Mr.  Fayle's.  And  Mr.  Fayle  is  missing, 
too.  But  I  don't  think,"  the  apothecary  contin- 
ued cunningly,  his  eyes  gazing  far  apart,  "that 
he  is  in  France.  I  think  that  he  is  nearer  Rom- 
ney. And  that  is  why  they  have  quartered  three 
soldiers  on  you." 

"You  villain!"  Hunt  cried,  his  voice  shaking 


182  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

with  passion.  "This  is  your  work."  And  he 
raised  his  heavy  riding-whip,  and  made  as  if  he 
would  ride  the  other  down.  The  two  were  alone 
on  the  marsh. 

But  quick  as  thought  Eubank  lugged  a  pistol 
from  his  holster  and  levelled  it. 

"Softly,  Mr.  Hunt,"  he  said.  "Softly!  I  warn 
you,  if  anything  happens  to  me,  it  is  known  who 
is  with  me.  Besides,  I  mean  you  no  harm." 

"And  no  good,"  said  the  smuggler,  between 
his  teeth.  "What  do  you  want?" 

"What  I  have  always  wanted,"  the  other  an- 
swered. "Is  there  any  harm  in  wanting  a  wife?" 
he  added,  a  whine  in  his  voice. 

"Yes,  when  she  does  not  want  you,"  Hunt  re- 
torted. 

"She  will  want  me — when  the  other  is  out  of  the 
way,"  the  apothecary  answered  sullenly. 

"Out  of  the  way?" 

"Ay;  in  France,  or— there!" — and  the  apothe- 
cary nodded  towards  the  gibbet  on  Dymchurch 
Flat,  which  they  were  just  approaching.  "It  is 
for  her  to  choose,"  he  added  softly.  "This  side 
or  that!" 

"How?" 

"If  she  takes  me,  Fayle  may  go  hang,  or  cross 
the  water,  or  as  you  please,  so  that  he  go  far 
enough.  But  if  she  will  have  him " 

"Well?"  Hunt  said;  for  Eubank  paused,  squint- 
ing horribly. 


HUNT  THE  OWLEB  183 

"She  will  marry  him  there!"  the  apothecary 
answered,  pointing  to  the  gibbet. 

"Ay?" 

"I  know  that  he  is  here,"  Eubank  continued, 
his  voice  low,  "  and  he  cannot  escape  me.  She  has 
bubbled  the  soldiers ;  they  do  not  know  him.  And 
for  aught  I  know  he  goes  out  and  in,  and  no  one 
is  the  wiser.  And  the  game  may  be  played  as 
long  as  you  please.  But  from  to-day  I  am  there." 

"You!"  Hunt  cried. 

"To  be  sure,"  Eubank  answered,  letting  his  ill- 
concealed  triumph  appear.  "At  the  farm.  I  am 
the  officer.  Ah,  would  you?  Mr.  Hunt,  back! 
Back,  or  I  fire." 

The  smuggler,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
had  gone  near  to  striking  him  down ;  in  face  of  the 
pistol  and  common-sense  he  lowered  his  hand, 
cursed  him,  and  bade  him  keep  his  distance  for 
the  cur  he  was;  and  so  with  the  width  of  the 
track  between  them  the  two  rode  on,  like  dogs 
ill-coupled,  Eubank  keeping  a  squinting  watch  on 
Hunt's  movements,  Hunt  with  his  face  hard  set, 
and  a  gleam  of  fear  in  his  eyes. 

A  little  later  he  spied  his  daughter  waiting  and 
watching  for  him,  on  the  dyke  near  the  farm — a 
lissom,  graceful  figure,  with  wind-blown  hair  and 
skirts,  visible  half  a  mile  away.  Possibly  he 
wished  then  that  he  had  struck  hard  and  once 
while  the  man  and  he  were  alone  on  the  Marsh. 
But  it  was  too  late.  She  was  there,  and  in  a  mo- 


184  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

ment  the  meeting  so  long  and  tenderly  anticipated 
was  over,  and  the  girl,  gently  disengaging  herself 
with  wet  cheeks  from  his  arms,  turned  to  his 
companion. 

"You  may  go,  Mr.  Eubank,"  she  said  austerely. 
"We  do  not  need  you.  My  father  is  at  home 
now." 

But  the  apothecary,  cringing  and  smiling,  fal- 
tered that  he  was — that  he  was  coming  to  the 
house. 

The  words  were  barely  audible,  for  his  courage, 
not  his  malice,  failed  him  under  her  eyes.  At  any 
rate  she  did  not  understand.  "To  our  house?" 
she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  mouthing  nervously,  and 
looking  his  meanest,  in  his  vain  endeavour  to  ap- 
pear at  ease. 

Still  she  did  not  comprehend,  and  she  looked  to 
her  father  for  light.  "Mr.  Eubank  is  quartered  on 
us,"  he  said  grimly. 

And  then  for  certain  he  wished  that  he  had 
closed  with  the  man  while  they  were  alone;  and 
had  taken  the  chance  of  what  might  follow,  pistol 
or  no  pistol.  For  he  saw  the  healthy  brown  of  sun 
and  wind  fade  from  her  cheeks,  and  her  grey  eyes 
dilate  with  sudden  terror;  and  he  read  in  these 
signs  the  perfect  confirmation  of  the  misgiving  he 
had  begun  to  entertain.  He  knew  as  certainly  as 
if  she  had  told  him  that  Mr.  Fayle,  of  Fawlcourt, 
was  hidden  at  the  farm.  And  what  was  worse, 


HUNT  THE  OWLER  185 

that  Eubank,  if  he  had  eyes,  could  not  fail  to 
know  it  also. 

It  was  a  relief  to  all  three  when  a  soldier  saun- 
tered into  sight,  mooning  up  the  path  from  the 
farm,  and  civilly  greeting  the  owner,  said  some- 
thing about  drinking  his  health.  No  further  words 
passed  then  between  them,  but  all  moved  together 
towards  the  house,  each  avoiding  the  other's 
eyes.  The  threshold  reached,  there  was  a  mo- 
mentary pause,  the  girl  looking  full  at  the  in- 
truder with  a  flame  of  passion  in  her  face,  as  if 
she  defied  him  to  enter.  But  Eubank's  eyes  were 
lowered,  he  saw  nothing,  and  with  a  smirk,  and 
a  poor  show  of  making  apology,  he  went  in. 

Hunt  thought  of  force,  and  weighed  the  odds  in 
his  mind.  But  fresh  from  prison,  under  the  ban  of 
Government,  and  with  a  wholesome  dread  of  the 
Marshalsea,  he  shrank  from  the  attempt.  And 
matters,  once  they  were  in  the  house,  went  so 
quietly,  that  he  began  to  fancy  that  he  had  been 
mistaken.  For  one  thing,  the  girl  sought  no 
private  word  with  him,  was  obtrusively  public, 
and  once  gripped  the  nettle  danger  in  a  way  that 
startled  him.  It  was  at  the  evening  meal.  Eu- 
bank, ill  at  ease  and  suspicious,  was  stealing 
glances  this  way  and  that,  his  one  eye  on  the  settle 
that  screened  the  entrance,  the  other  on  the  stair- 
case door  that  led  to  the  upper  floor.  On  a  sud- 
den she  rose  as  if  she  must  speak  or  choke.  "Mr. 
Eubank,"  she  cried,  "you  are  here  to  hunt  down 


186  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Mr.  Fayle !  You  think  that  he  is  in  my  room ! 
My  room  !  I  read  it  in  your  eyes,  you  cur !  You 
traitor ! " 

"Hush!"  Hunt  said  in  warning.  This  was  no 
open  fight  such  as  he  had  dared  a  score  of  times ; 
and  the  malice  in  the  man's  face  frightened  him. 

"But,  I  will  speak  !"  she  cried,  fighting  with  her 
passion.  "He  thinks  it,  and  he  shall  search! 
Go—go  now !  Leave  your  men  here,  sir,  to  watch, 
and  do  you  see  for  yourself  that  he  is  not  there ! 
And  then  leave  the  house!" 

He  was  not  at  all  for  going  to  search,  and 
cringed  and  muttered  an  apology ;  but  she  would 
have  him,  and  as  good  as  forced  him.  Then,  when 
he  had  searched  as  much  as  he  pleased — and  it 
was  little,  with  her  burning  eyes  watching  him 
from  the  doorway— she  brought  him  down  again 
and  bade  him  go.  "Go !"  she  cried. 

"I  never  thought  that  he  was  there,"  he  said 
slyly,  smiling  at  the  floor.  And  of  course  he  did 
not  go,  and  she  could  not  make  him;  and  the 
desperate  attempt  failed  as  hopelessly  as  her 
father  could  have  told  her  it  would. 

The  whole  position  was  strange.  The  tall  clock 
ticked  in  the  corner  of  the  great  warm  panelled 
kitchen;  where  the  fire  shone  cosily  on  delft  and 
pewter,  and  on  the  china  dogs  and  Nankin  idols 
that  skippers,  bringing  cargoes  of  Hollands  and 
Mechlin,  had  given  to  the  Owler's  daughter. 
Through  the  open  window  the  belated  bees  could 


HUNT  THE  OWLEE  187 

be  heard  among  the  hollyhocks,  and  a  frugal 
swallow  hawked  to  and  fro  for  flies.  The  quiet 
that  falls  on  a  farm  in  the  evening  lay  on  every- 
thing. 

But  within  was  a  difference.  There,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  soldiers,  who,  irritated  by  Eubank's 
supervision,  hung  about  the  open  windows  listen- 
ing sullenly,  the  three  never  ceased  to  watch  and 
observe  one  another,  ready  to  spring,  ready  to 
fall  back  at  a  sign.  Of  all,  perhaps,  Hunt  was 
most  mystified.  He  knew  that  in  the  search  which 
had  attended  his  arrest  the  premises  had  been 
ransacked  from  roof  to  cellar;  that  every  locker 
and  hiding-place  had  been  laid  open  and  discov- 
ered; and  that  apart  from  this  Eubank,  who 
had  played  jackal  in  many  of  his  adventures,  was 
familiar  with  all,  even  the  most  secret.  Where, 
then,  was  Fayle? 

He  learned  only  too  soon.  When  it  came  to 
closing  time,  "Your  woman  is  not  in,"  said  one 
of  the  soldiers;  and  he  looked  at  the  girl. 

"Woman?"  said  Eubank,  with  meaning;  "I 
have  seen  no  woman." 

"She  was  here  at  mid-day,"  the  man  answered, 
without  suspicion. 

Perhaps  the  girl  had  been  expecting  it,  for  she 
did  not  blench,  though  Eubank's  eyes  were  on  her 
face.  "Then  leave  the  door  on  the  latch,"  she 
said;  and  she  added,  with  fine  contempt,  "If 


188  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

a   wench   has   a  lover    you    need    not    tell    the 
town!" 

She  went  upstairs  with  that,  and  Hunt,  who  was 
tired  and  mystified  and  in  a  poor  humour — things 
at  home  promising  to  turn  out  as  ill  as  matters 
abroad,  went  to  his  den  off  the  kitchen  and  shut 
himself  in  to  sulk.  For  the  use  of  Eubank  and  the 
soldiers  two  pallets  had  been  laid  in  a  room  on 
the  farther  side  of  the  kitchen  if  they  chose  to 
use  them;  but  with  the  door  on  the  latch  Hunt 
had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  they  would  sit  up 
and  watch.  They  soon  fell  silent,  however,  and 
though  the  remembrance  of  the  events  which  had 
happened  since  he  last  lay  there  kept  him  long 
waking,  and  in  miserable  mood,  he  heard  neither 
voices  nor  movements.  For  himself  he  was  sick  at 
heart  thinking  of  the  girl  and  her  lover,  and 
furious  at  the  treachery  of  the  hound  who  pur- 
sued her.  Nevertheless,  Nature  would  have  its 
way,  and  he  was  in  the  act  of  sinking  into  slum- 
ber when  a  cry  which  pierced  the  night  and  was 
followed  by  a  discord  of  voices,  raised  in  sharp 
contention,  brought  him  startled  to  his  feet. 

He  had  little  doubt  that  Eubank  and  his  men 
had  seized  Fayle  in  the  act  of  entering  the  house ; 
and  enraged,  yet  bitterly  aware  of  his  impotence, 
he  huddled  on  some  clothes,  and  in  a  twinkling 
was  out  of  his  room.  But  in  the  kitchen,  of 
which  the  outer  door  stood  wide  open  to  the 
night,  was  only  Eubank;  who,  without  his  wig, 


HUNT  THE  OWLER  189 

and  with  a  pistol  poised  in  his  uncertain  hand, 
had  entrenched  himself  in  the  angle  between  the 
settle  and  the  hearth.  The  smuggler,  seeing  no 
one  else,  vented  his  wrath  on  him. 

"You  dog!"  he  cried.  "Are  honest  men  to  be 
kept  awake  by  such  as  you?  What  does  this 
mean?" 

"It  means  that  we  have  got  your  fine  son-in- 
law!"  the  other  retorted  with  venom.  "And  we 
are  going  to  keep  him.  So  your  distance,  if  you 
please.  I  know  you  of  old,  and  if  you  come  within 
a  yard  of  me  I  will  put  a  ball  into  you.  Now 
mark  that !" 

"You  have  got  him?"  said  Hunt,  restraining 
himself  with  difficulty.  "Where?" 

"They  are  bringing  him,"  Eubank  answered. 
"You  will  see  him  soon  enough."  And  then,  as 
one  of  the  soldiers  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
"Have  you  got  him?"  the  apothecary  cried  eag- 
erly. 

"Ay,  ay,"  the  man  said. 

"But  where  is  he?" 

"Hughes  and  Lort  are  bringing  him." 

"Are  they  enough?"  Eubank  cried  anxiously. 

"Plenty,"  the  soldier  answered  with  some  scorn. 
"He  made  no  fight." 

"I'll  lay  you  caught  him  under  her  window?" 
Eubank  returned,  licking  his  lips. 

The  man  nodded ;  then  stood  twiddling  his  cap, 
and  looking  ashamed  of  himself.  For  Kate  Hunt 


190  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

had  just  appeared  at  the  open  staircase  door, 
and  thence,  raised  a  step  above  the  floor,  with  a 
hand  on  each  post,  was  taking  in  the  scene. 

Eubank — who  did  not  see  her — chuckled.  "I 
thought  so,"  he  said,  with  an  evil  grin;  and  be- 
tween his  bald  head  and  his  vile  triumph  he 
looked  as  ugly  as  sin  itself.  "I  knew  he  would 
be  there.  She  did  not  deceive  me,  with  her  door 
on  the  latch!" 

Pistol,  or  no  pistol,  Hunt  nearly  fell  upon  him. 
The  owler  only  refrained  because  he  became  aware 
of  his  daughter's  presence,  and  to  his  great  be- 
wilderment read  in  her  face  not  horror  or  misery, 
but  a  strange  passionate  relief.  He  turned  from 
her — they  were  bringing  in  the  prisoner.  It  was  no 
surprise  to  him  when  Eubank,  with  a  howl  of 
consternation,  stepped  back  almost  into  the  fire. 
"You  fools!"  the  apothecary  cried,  all  his  ma- 
lignity appearing  in  his  face,  "that  is  not  the 
man  !  That  is  not " 

"Mr.  Fayle?"  said  the  prisoner  coolly.  "No,  it 
is  not.  And  yet,  Mr.  Eubank,  I  think  you  know 
me.  Or,  you  should  know  me.  You  have  seen  me 
often  enough." 

The  apothecary  stared,  started,  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  relief,  and  was  himself  again.  "Yes,  I 
know  you — Mr.  Birkenhead,"  he  said.  "I  have 
lost  Fayle,  but  I  have  won  a  thousand  guineas. 
Lads  ! "  he  continued,  raising  his  voice  almost  to 
a  scream,  "we  have  shot  at  the  pigeon  and  killed 


HUNT  THE  OWLER  191 

the  crow !  We  have  killed  the  crow !  It  is  Bir- 
kenhead,  the  Post— the  Jacobite  Post !  And  there 
is  a  thousand  guineas  on  his  head ! " 

Hunt  gathered  himself  together.  "Mr.  Birken- 
head,"  he  said,  "we  are  two  to  four,  but  say  the 
word,  and " 

"I'll  say  a  word  for  you  presently,"  the  Jaco- 
bite answered  with  a  quick  look  of  acknowledg- 
ment, "where  we  are  going.  But  first,  to  show 
Mr.  Eubank  that  he  is  more  lucky  than  he  thinks, 
and  has  caught  his  pigeon  as  well  as  his  crow. 
Fayle,"  he  continued,  raising  his  voice,  "come  in ! " 

A  gawky,  long-limbed  woman  stalked  in,  smiling 
grimly  at  Eubank,  but  with  the  tail  of  his  eye  on 
the  girl  in  the  doorway.  Eubank  drew  back,  and 
the  colour  faded  from  his  cheeks.  He  breathed 
hard,  and  the  pistol  in  his  hand  wavered.  "  Look 
here,"  he  began.  "Let  us  talk  about  this." 

But  the  Jacobite  raised  his  hand  for  silence. 
"Dewhurst!"  he  cried. 

A  tall,  swarthy  seaman,  with  a  scarred  cheek 
and  a  knitted  nightcap,  stepped  briskly  in,  a  cut- 
lass in  his  hand. 

"Fawcus!" 

Another  entered,  who  but  for  the  scar  might 
have  been  his  twin. 

"  Bonaventure !  And  Mr.  Eubank,"  Birkenhead 
continued,  lowering  his  voice  and  speaking  with 
treacherous  civility,  "let  me  warn  you  not  to  be 
too  free  with  that  pistol,  for  these  good  fellows 


192  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

will  assuredly  put  you  on  the  fire  if  any  one  is 
hurt.  Is  Bonaventure  there?  Yes.  Moyreau? 
Yes.  Valentin?  I  am  sure  that  you  understand 
me,  Mr.  Eubank.  You  will  be  careful." 

But  the  warning  was  needless.  As  man  after 
man  filed  in  and  formed  up  before  him— all  armed 
to  the  teeth,  and  all  wild,  reckless  fellows  in  sea- 
boots,  nightcaps,  and  tarry  jerkins— Eubank 's 
craven  heart  melted  within  him.  Setting  his  pis- 
tol down  on  the  settle,  he  stood  speechless,  sallow, 
shaking  with  fear,  such  fear  as  almost  stays  the 
heart,  yet  leaves  the  brain  working— leaves  the 
man  created  in  God's  image  to  be  dragged  out 
to  his  death,  writhing  and  shrieking — a  sight  to 
haunt  brave  men's  memories. 

He  was  spared  that,  yet  came  near  to  it.  "Mr. 
Eubank,"  said  Birkenhead  sternly,  "you  will 
come  with  me.  I  have  a  sloop  at  the  old  landing- 
place,  and  before  daylight  we  shall  be  in  Calais 
roads.  There  is  a  cell  in  the  Bastille  waiting  for 
you,  and  I  shall  see  you  in  it.  I'll  hold  you  a 
hostage  for  Bernardi." 

The  wretch  shrieked  and  fell  on  his  knees  and 
grovelled,  crying  for  mercy ;  but  Birkenhead  only 
answered,  "Get  up,  man,  get  up;  or  must  my 
men  prick  you?"  And  then  to  the  others,  "Mr. 
Hunt,"  he  continued,  "you  too  must  come  with 
us.  But  have  no  fear.  Believe  me  you  will  be  bet- 
ter there  than  here,  and  shall  be  well  reported. 
Mr.  Fayle  and  your  daughter  will  come,  of  course. 


HUNT  THE  OWLER  193 

Tie  the  others  and  leave  them.  And  hurry,  men, 
hurry.  Bring  your  money,  Mr.  Hunt ;  King  James 
has  none  too  much  of  that.  I  can  give  you  ten 
minutes  to  pack,  and  then  we  must  be  moving 
lest  they  take  the  alarm  in  Romney." 

As  a  fact  they  took  no  alarm  in  Romney.  But 
a  shepherd,  belated  that  night  with  a  sick  ewe, 
saw  a  long  line  of  lanthorns  go  bobbing  across 
the  marsh  to  the  sea,  and  went  home  and  told 
his  neighbours  that  Hunt  was  at  his  old  tricks 
again.  One  of  them,  knowing  that  the  soldiers 
were  there,  laughed  in  his  face  and  went  to  see, 
and  learning  the  truth  carried  the  story  into  Rom- 
ney,  whence  it  spread  to  London  and  brought 
down  a  mob  of  horse  and  foot  and  messengers, 
and  from  one  end  of  England  to  the  other  the 
descent  and  the  audacity  of  it  were  a  nine  days' 
wonder.  However,  by  that  time  the  nest  was 
cold  and  the  birds  long  flown,  and  Birkenhead, 
with  one  more  plume  in  his  crest,  was  preening 
his  feathers  at  St.  Germains. 
13 


THE  TWO  PAGES 

(1580) 

YES,  I  have  seen  changes.  When  I  first  served 
at  court,  whither  I  went  in  the  year  1579 — seven 
years  after  the  St.  Bartholomew — the  King  re- 
ceived all  in  his  bedchamber,  and  there  every  even- 
ing played  primero  with  his  intimates,  until  it  was 
time  to  retire;  Kosny  and  Biron,  and  the  great 
men  of  the  day,  standing,  or  sitting  on  chests 
round  the  chamber.  If  he  would  be  more  private 
he  had  his  cabinet ;  or,  if  the  matter  were  of  prime 
importance,  he  would  take  his  confidants  to  an 
open  space  in  the  garden— such  as  the  white-mul- 
berry grove,  encircled  by  the  canal  at  Fontaine- 
bleau ;  where,  posting  a  Swiss  guard  who  did  not 
understand  French,  at  the  only  bridge  that  gave 
access  to  the  place,  he  could  talk  without  reserve. 

In  those  days  the  court  rode,  or  if  sick,  went  in 
litters.  Coaches  were  only  coming  into  fashion, 
Henry,  who  feared  nothing  else,  having  so  invinci- 
ble a  distaste  for  them  that  he  was  wont  to  turn 
pale  if  the  coach  in  which  he  travelled  swayed 
more  than  usual.  Ladies,  the  Queen's  mother  and 
her  suite  excepted,  rode  sideways  on  pads,  their 
feet  supported  by  a  little  board ;  and  side-saddles 
were  rare.  At  great  banquets  the  fairest  and 


THE  TWO  PAGES  195 

noblest  served  the  tables.  We  dined  at  ten  in  the 
country  and  eleven  in  Paris;  instead  of  at  noon, 
as  is  the  custom  now. 

When  the  King  lay  alone,  his  favourite  pages 
took  it  by  turns  to  sleep  at  his  feet ;  the  page  on 
duty  using  a  low  truckle  bed  that  in  the  daytime 
fitted  under  the  King's  bed,  and  at  night  was 
drawn  out.  Not  seldom,  however,  and  more  often 
if  the  times  were  troublous,  he  would  invite  one  of 
his  councillors  to  share  his  couch,  and  talk  the 
night  through  with  him;  a  course  which  in  these 
days  might  seem  undignified.  Frequently  he  and 
the  Queen  received  favourite  courtiers  before  they 
left  their  beds ;  particularly  on  New  Year's  morn- 
ing it  was  the  duty  of  the  Finance  Minister  to 
wait  on  them,  and  awaken  them  with  a  present  of 
medals  struck  for  the  purpose. 

And  I  recall  many  other  changes.  But  one 
thing,  which  some  young  sparks,  with  a  forward- 
ness neither  becoming  in  them  nor  respectful  to 
me,  have  ventured  to  suggest,  even  in  my  pres- 
ence— that  we  who  lived  in  the  old  war  time  were 
a  rougher  breed  and  less  dainty  and  chivalrous 
than  the  Buckinghams  and  Bassompierres  of  to- 
day—I roundly  deny.  On  the  contrary,  I  would 
have  these  to  know  that  he  who  rode  in  the  wars 
with  Henry  of  Guise — or  against  him— had  for  his 
example  not  only  the  handsomest  but  the  most 
courtly  man  of  all  times ;  and  has  nothing  to  learn 
from  a  set  of  pert  fellows  who,  unable  to  acquire 


196  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  stately  courtesy  that  becomes  a  gentleman, 
are  fain  to  air  themselves  in  a  dandified-simpering 
trim  of  their  own,  with  nought  gallant  about 
them  but  their  ribbons  and  furbelows. 

That  such  are  stouter  than  the  men  of  my  day, 
no  one  dare  maintain.  I  have  seen  Crillon,  whom 
veterans  called  the  brave ;  and  I  have  talked  with 
La  Noue  of  the  Iron  Arm ;  for  the  rest,  I  can  tell 
you  of  one — he  was  a  boy  fourteen  years  old- 
known  to  me  in  my  youth,  who  had  it  not  in  him 
to  fear. 

He  was  page,  along  with  me,  to  the  King  of 
Navarre;  a  year  my  junior,  and  my  rival.  At 
riding,  shooting  and  fencing  he  was  the  better ;  at 
paume  and  tennis  he  always  won.  But  naturally, 
being  the  elder,  I  had  the  greater  strength,  and 
when  the  sharp  sting  of  his  wit  provoked  me,  I 
could  drub  him,  and  did  so  more  than  once.  No 
extremity  of  defeat,  however,  no,  nor  any  severity 
of  punishment  could  wring  from  Antoine  a  word  of 
submission ;  prostrate,  with  bleeding  face,  he  was 
as  ready  to  fly  at  my  throat  as  before  I  laid  hand 
on  him.  And  more,  though  I  was  the  senior,  he 
was  the  life  and  soul  and  joy  of  the  ante-chamber; 
the  first  in  mischief,  the  last  in  retreat;  the  first 
to  cry  a  nick-name  after  a  burly  priest  who 
chanced  to  pass  us  as  we  lounged  at  the  gates— 
and  the  first  to  be  whipped  when  it  turned  out 
that  the  King  had  a  mind  to  please  the  clergy. 

It  followed  that  from  the  first  I  viewed  him  with 


THE  TWO  PAGES  197 

a  strange  mixture  of  rivalry  and  affection ;  ready 
at  one  moment  to  quarrel  with  him  and  beat  him 
for  a  misword,  and  the  next  to  let  him  beat  me  if  it 
pleased  him.  At  this  time  the  King  of  Navarre  had 
his  court  sometimes  at  Montauban,  sometimes 
at  Nerac;  and  there  were  rumours  of  a  war  be- 
tween him  and  the  King  of  France ;  to  be  clear,  it 
was  this  year,  that  in  the  hope  of  maintaining  the 
peace,  the  latter's  mother,  the  Queen  Catherine, 
came  with  a  glittering  train  of  ladies  to  Nerac, 
and  paid  her  court  to  our  King,  and  there  were 
ball  and  pageants  and  gay  doings  by  day  and 
night.  But  the  Huguenots  were  not  lightly  taken 
in,  and  under  this  fair  mask  suspected  treachery, 
and  not  without  reason;  for  one  night,  during  a 
ball,  Catherine's  friends  seized  a  strong  town,  and 
but  for  Henry's  readiness— who  took  horse  that 
moment  and  before  daylight  had  surprised  a  town 
of  France  to  set  against  it— they  would  have 
gained  the  advantage.  So  in  the  event  Catherine 
did  little,  no  one  trusting  her,  and  in  the  end  she 
returned  to  Paris  wiser  than  she  came ;  but  for  the 
time  the  visit  lasted  the  court  gaieties  continued, 
and  there  were  masques  and  dances,  and  the 
thought  of  war  was  seemingly  far  from  the  minds 
of  all. 

Now  in  the  room  which  was  then  the  King's 
Chamber  at  Montauban,  is  a  window,  at  a  great 
height  from  the  ground,  a  very  deep  ravine,  which 
is  one  of  the  main  defences  of  the  city,  lying  below 


198  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

it.  In  the  adjoining  ante-chamber  is  a  similar 
window,  and  between  the  two  is  a  projecting  but- 
tress, and  outside  the  sill  of  each  is  a  stone  ledge 
a  foot  wide,  which  runs  round  the  buttress.  I  do 
not  know  who  first  thought  of  it,  but  one  day 
when  the  King  was  absent  and  we  pages  were 
lounging  in  the  room — which  was  against  the 
rules,  since  we  should  have  been  in  the  ante-cham- 
ber— some  one  challenged  Antoine  to  walk  on  the 
ledge  round  the  buttress,  going  out  by  the  one 
window  and  returning  by  the  other.  I  have  said 
that  the  ledge  was  but  a  foot  wide,  the  depth 
below  infinite.  It  turned  me  sick  only  to  look 
down  and  see  the  hawks  hang  and  circle  in  the 
gulf.  Nevertheless,  before  any  could  speak,  An- 
toine was  outside  the  casement  poising  himself  on 
the  airy  ledge ;  a  moment,  and  with  his  face  turned 
inwards  to  the  wall,  his  slight  figure  outlined 
against  the  sky,  he  began  to  edge  his  way  round 
the  buttress. 

I  called  to  him  to  come  back;  I  expected  each 
moment  to  see  him  reel  and  fall ;  the  others,  too, 
stood  staring  with  uneasy  faces ;  for  they  had  not 
thought  that  he  would  do  it.  But  he  did  not 
heed ;  an  instant,  and  he  vanished  round  the  but- 
tress, and  still  we  stood,  and  no  one  moved;  no 
one  moved,  until  with  a  shout  he  showed  himself 
at  the  other  window,  and  sprang  down  into  the 
ante-chamber.  His  eyes  were  bright  with  the  tri- 
umph of  it ;  his  hair  waved  back  from  his  brow  as 


THE  TWO  PAGES  199 

if  the  breeze  from  the  gulf  still  stirred  it.  He  cried 
to  me  to  do  the  feat  in  my  turn,  he  pointed  his 
finger  at  me,  dared  me,  and  before  them  all  he 
called  me  "Coward!  Coward!" 

But  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  a  weakness 
I  share  with  many  men  of  undoubted  courage — I 
could  never  face  a  great  height;  and  though  I 
burned  with  wrath  and  shame,  and  raged  under 
his  taunts,  though  I  could  have  confronted  any 
other  form  of  death,  at  his  instigation,  or  I 
thought  I  could,  though  I  even  went  so  far  as  to 
leap  on  the  seat  within  the  window  and  stand— 
and  stand  irresolute — I  stopped  there.  My  head 
turned,  my  skin  crept.  I  could  not  do  it.  The 
victory  was  with  Antoine;  he  whom  I  had 
thrashed  for  some  impertinence  only  the  night 
before,  now  held  me  up  to  scorn  and  drove  me 
from  the  room  with  jeers  and  laughter. 

None  of  the  others  had  greater  courage;  none 
dared  do  the  feat;  but  I  was  the  eldest  and  the 
biggest,  and  the  iron  entered  into  my  heart.  Day 
after  day  for  a  week,  whenever  the  chamber  was 
empty,  I  crept  to  the  window  and  looked  down 
and  watched  the  kites  hover  and  drop,  and 
plumbed  the  depth  with  my  eyes.  But  only  to 
turn  away — sick.  I  could  not  do  it.  Eesolve  as  I 
might  at  night,  in  the  morning,  on  the  window 
ledge,  with  the  giddy  deep  below  me,  I  was  a 
coward. 

One  evening,  however,  when  the  King  was  sup- 


200  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

ping  with  M.  de  Koquelaure,  and  I  believed  the 
chamber  to  be  deserted,  I  chanced  to  go  to  the 
window  of  the  ante-chamber  after  nightfall.  I 
stepped  on  the  seat — that  I  had  done  often  be- 
fore ;  but  this  time,  looking  down,  I  found  that  I 
no  longer  quailed.  The  darkness  veiled  the  ra- 
vine ;  to  my  astonishment  I  felt  no  qualms.  More- 
over, I  had  had  supper,  my  heart  was  high ;  and 
in  a  moment  it  occurred  to  me  that  now — now  in 
the  dark  I  could  do  it,  and  regain  my  pride. 

I  did  not  give  myself  time  to  think,  but  went 
straight  out  to  the  gallery,  where  I  found  Antoine 
and  two  or  three  others  teasing  Mathurine  the 
woman-fool.  My  entrance  was  the  signal  for  a 
taunt.  "  Ho,  Miss  White  Face !  Come  to  borrow 
Mathurine's  petticoats?"  Antoine  cried,  standing 
out  and  confronting  me.  "It  is  you,  is  it?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  sharply,  meeting  his  eyes  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  I  had  not  used  for  a  week. 
"And  if  you  do  not  mend  your  manners,  Master 
Antoine " 

"Go  round  the  buttress!"  he  retorted  with  a 
grimace. 

"I  will!"  I  answered.    "I  will!    And  then " 

"You  dare  not!" 

"Come!"  I  said;  "come,  and  see!  And  when  I 
have  done  it,  my  friend " 

I  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  led  the  way 
back  to  the  ante-chamber;  assuming  a  courage 
which,  as  a  fact,  was  fast  oozing  from  me.  The 


THE  TWO  PAGES  201 

cold  air  that  met  me  as  I  approached  the  open 
window  sobered  me  still  more ;  but  Antoine's  jeers 
and  my  companions'  incredulity  stung  me  to  the 
necessary  point,  and  at  once  I  stepped  on  the 
ledge,  and  without  giving  myself  time  to  think, 
turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  began  to  edge 
myself  slowly  along  it;  my  heart  in  my  mouth, 
my  flesh  creeping,  as  I  gradually  realized  where 
I  was ;  every  nerve  in  my  body  strung  to  quiver- 
ing point. 

Certainly  in  the  daylight  I  could  not  have  done 
it.  Even  now,  when  the  depth  over  which  I  bal- 
anced myself  was  hidden  by  the  darkness,  and  I 
had  only  my  fancy  to  conquer,  I  trembled,  my 
knees  shook,  a  bat  skimming  by  my  ear  almost 
caused  me  to  fall;  I  was  bathed  in  perspiration. 
The  depth  drew  me ;  I  dared  not  for  my  life  look 
into  it.  Yet  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  buttress  in 
safety,  and  edged  my  way  along  its  front,  glueing 
myself  to  the  wall;  and  came  at  last,  breathing 
hard,  to  the  second  corner,  and  turned  it,  and  saw 
with  a  gasp  of  relief  the  lights  in  the  chamber. 
A  moment — a  moment  more,  and  I  should  be 
safe. 

At  that  instant  I  heard  something,  and  cast  a 
wary  eye  backwards  the  way  I  had  come.  I  saw 
a  shadowy  form  at  my  elbow,  and  I  guessed  that 
Antoine  was  following  me.  With  a  shudder  I 
hastened  my  steps  to  avoid  him,  and  I  was  al- 
ready in  the  angle  formed  by  the  wall  and  but- 


202  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

tress— whence  I  could  leap  down  into  the  cham- 
ber— when  he  called  to  me. 

"  Hist ! "  he  cried  softly.  "  Stop,  man  !  the  King 
is  there !  He  has  been  there  all  the  time,  I  think." 

I  thought  it  only  too  likely,  for  I  could  see  none 
of  our  comrades  at  the  window;  and  I  heard 
men's  deeper  voices  in  the  room.  To  go  on,  there- 
fore, and  show  myself  was  to  be  punished ;  and  I 
paused  and  knelt  down  in  the  angle  where  the 
ledge  was  wider.  I  recognized  the  King's  voice, 
and  M.  Gourdon's,  and  that  of  St.  Martin,  the 
captain  of  the  guard ;  I  caught  even  their  words, 
and  presently,  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  against 
my  will,  I  had  surprised  a  secret — so  great  a 
secret  that  I  trembled  almost  as  much  as  I  had 
trembled  at  the  outmost  angle  of  the  buttress, 
hanging  between  earth  and  sky.  For  they  were 
planning  the  great  assault  on  Cahors ;  for  the  first 
time  I  heard  named  those  points  that  are  now 
household  words ;  the  walnut  grove,  and  the  three 
gates,  and  the  bridge,  that  fame  and  France  will 
never  forget.  I  heard  all — the  night,  the  hour,  the 
numbers  to  be  engaged;  and  turned  quaking  to 
learn  what  Antoine  thought  of  it.  Turned,  but 
neither  saw  nor  addressed  him;  for  he  had  gone 
back,  and  my  eye,  incautiously  cast  down,  saw 
far,  far  beneath  me  a  torch  and  a  little  group  of 
men — at  the  bottom  of  the  void.  I  became  giddy 
at  this  sudden  view  of  the  abyss,  wavered  an  in- 
stant, and  then  with  a  cry  of  fear  I  chose  the  less 


THE  TWO  PAGES  203 

pressing  danger,  and  tumbled  forward  into  the 
room. 

M.  de  Roquelaure  had  his  point  at  my  throat 
before  I  could  rise;  and  I  had  a  vision  of  half  a 
dozen  men  part  risen,  of  half  a  dozen  startled 
faces  all  glaring  at  me.  Fortunately  M.  de  Rosny 
knew  me  and  held  the  other's  arm.  I  was  plucked 
up  roughly,  and  set  on  my  feet  before  the  King, 
who  alone  had  kept  his  seat ;  and  amid  a  shower 
of  threats  I  was  bidden  to  explain  my  presence. 

"  You  knave !  I  wish  I  had  spitted  you  !"  Roque- 
laure cried,  with  an  oath,  when  I  had  done  so. 
"You  heard  all?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

They  scowled  at  me  between  wrath  and  chagrin. 
"Friend  Rosny,  you  were  a  fool,"  M.  de  Roque- 
laure said  with  grimness. 

"I  think  I  was,"  the  other  answefed.  "But  a 
flogging,  a  gag,  and  the  black  hole  will  keep  his 
tongue  still  as  long  as  is  needful." 

Henry  laughed.  "I  think  we  can  do  better  than 
that!"  he  said,  with  a  glance  of  good  nature. 
"  Hark  you,  my  lad ;  you  are  big  enough  to  fight. 
We  will  trust  you,  and  you  shall  wear  sword  for 
the  first  time.  But  if  the  surprise  fail,  if  word  of 
our  coming  go  before  us,  we  shall  know  whom  to 
blame,  and  you  will  have  to  reckon  with  M.  de 
Rosny." 

I  fell  on  my  knees  and  thanked  him  with  tears ; 
while  Rosny  and  M.  St.  Martin  remonstrated. 


204  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Take  my  word  for  it,  he  will  blurt  it  out  I"  said 
the  one;  and  the  other,  "You  had  better  deliver 
him  to  me,  sire." 

"No,"  Henry  said  kindly.  "I  will  trust  him. 
He  comes  of  a  good  stock ;  if  the  oak  bends,  what 
tree  shall  we  trust?" 

"The  oak  bends  fast  enough,  sire,  when  it  is  a 
sapling,"  Eosny  retorted. 

"In  that  case  you  shall  apply  your  sapling!" 
the  King  answered,  laughing.  "Hark  ye,  my  lad, 
will  you  be  silent?" 

I  promised — with  tears  in  my  eyes;  and  with 
that,  and  a  mind  full  of  amazement,  I  was  dis- 
missed, and  left  the  presence,  a  grown  man ;  over- 
joyed that  the  greatest  scrape  of  my  life  had 
turned  out  the  happiest;  foreseeing  honour,  and 
rewards,  and  already  scorning  the  other  pages  as 
immeasurably  beneath  me.  It  was  a  full  minute 
before  I  thought  of  Antoine,  and  the  chance  that 
he,  too,  before  he  turned  back,  had  overheard  the 
King's  plan.  Then  I  stood  in  the  passage  horri- 
fied— my  first  impulse  to  return  and  tell  the  King. 
It  came  too  late,  however,  for  in  the  mean  time 
he  and  M.  de  Rosny  had  repaired  to  the  closet, 
and  the  others  had  withdrawn ;  and  while  I  stood 
hesitating,  Antoine  slipped  out  of  the  ante-cham- 
ber, and  came  to  me  on  the  stairs. 

His  first  words  went  some  way  towards  relieving 
me;  they  told  me  that  he  had  overheard  some- 
thing but  not  all ;  enough  to  know  that  the  King 


THE  TWO  PAGES  205 

intended  to  surprise  a  place  of  strength,  and  a  few 
details,  but  not  the  name  of  the  place.  As  soon 
as  I  understood  this,  and  that  I  had  nothing 
to  fear  from  him,  I  could  not  hide  my  triumph. 
When  he  declared  his  intention  of  going  with  the 
expedition,  I  laughed  at  him. 

" You  !"  I  said.  "You  don't  understand.  This 
is  not  child's  play!" 

"And  you  will  not  tell  me  where  it  is?"  he 
asked,  raging. 

"No!  Go  to  your  nurse  and  your  pap-boat, 
child." 

He  flew  at  me  at  that  like  a  mad  cat,  and  I  had 
to  beat  him  until  the  blood  ran  down  his  face 
before  I  could  shake  him  off.  Even  then,  and 
while  I  thrust  him  out  sobbing,  he  begged  me  to 
tell  him— only  to  tell  him.  Nor  was  that  all. 
Through  all  the  next  day  he  haunted  me  and 
persecuted  me,  now  with  prayers  and  now  with 
threats ;  following  me  everywhere  with  eyes  of  such 
hot  longing  that  I  marvelled  at  the  irrepressible 
spirit  that  shone  in  the  lad. 

Of  course  I  told  him  nothing.  Yet  I  was  glad 
when  the  next  day  came,  and  with  it  an  announce- 
ment that  Henry  would  visit  M.  de  Gourdon  and 
lie  that  night  at  his  house,  four  miles  from  Mont- 
auban,  where  the  court  then  was.  Only  eight 
gentlemen  were  invited  to  be  of  the  party,  with  as 
many  ladies ;  the  troop  with  a  handful  of  servants 
riding  out  of  the  city  about  five  o'clock,  and  no 


206  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

one  the  wiser.  No  one  saw  anything  odd  in  the 
visit,  nor  in  my  being  chosen  to  attend  the  King. 
But  I  knew;  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  we 
stopped  at  M.  de  Gourdon's  only  to  sup,  and  then 
getting  to  horse,  rode  through  the  night  and  the 
dusky  oak  woods,  by  walled  farms  and  hamlets, 
and  under  rustling  poplars — rode  many  leagues, 
and  forded  many  streams.  The  night  was  hot,  it 
was  the  month  of  June ;  and  it  thundered  contin- 
ually, but  with  no  rain.  At  this  point  and  that 
bands  of  men  joined  us,  mysteriously,  and  in 
silence;  until  from  the  hill  with  its  bracken  and 
walnut  trees,  we  saw  the  lights  of  Cahors  below 
us,  and  the  glimmer  of  the  winding  Lot,  and 
heard  the  bells  of  the  city  tolling  midnight. 

By  this  time,  every  road  adding  to  our  numbers, 
we  were  a  great  company ;  and  how  we  lay  hidden 
through  the  early  night  in  the  walnut  grove  that 
looks  down  on  the  river  all  men  know;  but  not 
the  qualms  and  eagerness  that  by  turns  possessed 
me  as  I  peered  through  the  leaves  at  the  distant 
lights,  nor  the  prayer  I  said  that  I  might  not 
shame  my  race,  nor  how  my  heart  beat  when 
Henry,  who  was  that  day  twenty-seven  years  old, 
gave  the  order  to  advance  in  the  voice  of  one 
going  to  a  ball.  Two  men  with  a  petard— then  a 
strange  invention— led  the  way  through  the  gloom, 
attended  by  ten  picked  soldiers.  After  them  came 
fifty  of  the  King's  guards,  and  the  King  with  two 
hundred  foot ;  then  the  main  body  of  a  thousand. 


THE  TWO  PAGES  207 

We  had  the  long  bridge  with  its  three  gates  to 
pass;  and  beyond  these  obstacles,  a  city  bitterly 
hostile,  and  occupied  by  a  garrison  far  outnum- 
bering us.  Never,  indeed,  did  men  enter  on  a  more 
forlorn  or  perilous  enterprise. 

I  remember  to  this  day  how  I  felt  as  we  ad- 
vanced through  the  darkness,  and  how  long  it 
seemed  while  we  waited,  huddled  and  silent,  at  the 
head  of  the  bridge,  expecting  the  explosion  of  the 
petard,  which  had  been  fixed  to  the  first  gate. 
At  length  it  burst,  filling  the  heavens  with  flame ; 
before  the  night  closed  down  again  on  our  pale 
faces,  the  leaders  were  through  the  breach  and 
past  that  gate,  and  charging  madly  over  the 
bridge,  the  leading  companies  all  mingled  to- 
gether. 

I  had  no  fear  now.  If  a  friendly  hand  had  not 
pulled  me  back,  I  should  have  run  on  to  the 
petard  which  drove  in  the  second  gate.  As  it  was, 
I  passed  through  the  second  obstacle  side  by  side 
with  the  King — but  went  no  farther.  The  garrison 
was  awake  now,  and  a  withering  fire  from  fifty 
arquebuses  swept  the  narrow  bridge;  those  who 
were  not  struck  stumbled  over  the  dying ;  the  air 
was  filled  with  groans  and  cries;  a  moment  and 
the  very  bravest  recoiled,  and  sought  safety  be- 
hind the  second  gate,  where  we  stood  in  shelter. 

The  moment  was  critical,  for  now  the  whole  city 
was  aroused.  Shouts  of  triumph  rose  above  the 
exploding  of  the  guns ;  hi  every  tower  bells  jangled 


208  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

noisily,  and  on  the  summit  of  the  last  gateway 
on  the  bridge,  which  from  every  loophole  and 
window  poured  on  us  a  deadly  hail  of  slugs,  a 
beacon-fire  blazed  up,  turning  the  black  water 
below  us  to  blood. 

I  have  said  that  the  moment  was  critical— for 
France  and  for  us.  For  a  few  seconds  all  hung 
back.  Then  St.  Martin  sprang  forward,  and  by 
his  side  Captain  Robert,  who  had  fixed  the  first 
petard.  They  darted  along  the  bridge,  but  only 
to  fall  and  lie  groaning  and  helpless  halfway  over. 
Henry  made  a  movement  as  if  to  follow,  but 
young  M.  de  Kosny  held  him  back  by  force,  while 
half  a  dozen  soldiers  made  the  attempt.  Of  these 
four  fell  at  once  under  the  pitiless  fire,  and  two 
crawled  back  wounded.  It  seemed  that  a  man 
must  be  more  than  mortal  to  pass  that  space; 
and  while  one  might  count  twenty  no  one 
moved. 

Captain  Robert  lay  scarcely  fifteen  paces  from 
us,  and  by  his  side  the  hammer,  spike,  and  petard 
he  had  carried.  He  and  they  were  visible  in  the 
glow  of  ruddy  light  that  poured  down  on  the 
bridge.  Suddenly,  while  I  stood  panting  and  ir- 
resolute, longing,  yet  not  daring— since  I  saw  older 
men  hang  back — suddenly  a  hand  twitched  my 
sleeve,  and  I  turned  to  find  at  my  elbow,  his  hair 
streaming  back  from  his  brow,  Antoine!  The 
lad's  face  and  eyes  flashed  scorn  at  me.  He  waved 
his  hand  towards  the  bridge. 


THE  TWO  PAGES  209 

"Coward!"  he  cried;  and  he  struck  me  lightly 
on  the  cheek  with  his  hand.  "Coward!  Now 
follow  me,  if  you  dare ! " 

And,  before  any  one  could  stay  him,  he  darted 
from  the  shelter  of  the  gateway  in  which  we 
stood;  and  raced  on  to  the  bridge.  I  heard  a 
great  shout  on  our  side,  and  the  roar  of  a  volley ; 
but  dully  only,  for,  enraged  by  the  blow  and  the 
challenge,  I  followed  him — I  and  a  dozen  others. 
Some  fell,  but  he  ran  on,  and  I  after  him.  He 
snatched  up  the  petard  and  the  hammer,  I  the 
spike.  In  a  moment,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  we  were 
at  the  farther  gate  attaching  the  engine  to  it.  I 
held  the  spike,  he  hammered  it ;  the  smoke  and  the 
frowning  archway,  to  some  extent,  protected  us 
from  the  fire  of  those  above. 

I  often  think  of  those  few  seconds  with  the  pride 
and  the  garrulousness  of  an  old  man.  While  they 
lasted  we  stood  alone,  separated  from  our  friends 
by  the  whole  length  of  the  third  span  of  the 
bridge.  For  a  few  seconds  only  indeed ;  then,  with 
a  yell  of  triumph,  the  remains  of  Henry's  "for- 
lorn" rushed  forward,  and  though  many  fell, 
enough  came  on.  In  a  trice  eager  hands  took  the 
engine  from  us,  and  secured  the  fuse  effectually 
and  lit  it,  and  bore  us  back— I  was  going  to  say, 
out  of  danger ;  but  alas !  as  a  deafening  crash  and 
a  blaze  of  light  proclaimed  the  way  open  and  the 
last  gate  down,  he  who  had  done  the  deed,  and 

opened  the  way,  fell  across  me,  shot  from  a  loop- 
14 


210  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

hole !  As  the  rain  of  fragments  from  the  gate  fell 
hissing  and  splashing  in  the  stream  that  flowed 
below,  and  while  the  foot  streamed  over  the 
bridge,  and  pressed  through  the  breach,  Antoine 
gave  a  little  gasp,  and  died  on  my  knee. 

The  rest  all  men  know;  how  through  five  days 
and  nights  we  fought  the  great  street-fight  of 
Cahors ;  how  we  took  no  rest,  save  against  walls 
and  doorways,  or  in  the  courts  of  houses  we  had 
won ;  how  we  ate  and  drank  with  hands  smirched 
with  blood,  and  then  to  it  again ;  how  we  won  the 
city  house  by  house,  and  foot  by  foot,  until  at 
last  the  white  flag  waved  from  the  great  tower, 
and  France  awoke  with  a  start  to  know  that  in 
the  young  prince  of  pleasure,  whom  she  had 
deemed  a  trifler,  was  born  the  shrewdest  states- 
man and  the  boldest  soldier  of  all  her  royal  line. 

And  Antoine?  When  I  went,  after  many  hours, 
to  seek  him,  the  horse  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and 
even  his  body  was  gone.  How  he  had  traced  us, 
how  managed  to  come  to  the  front  so  oppor- 
tunely, whether  without  him  the  star  of  Navarre 
would  have  risen  so  gloriously  on  that  night  of 
'80,  never  to  be  forgotten,  I  cannot  say.  But 
when  I  hear  men  talk  of  Crillon  and  courage- 
above  all,  when  I  hear  them  talk  of  the  fops  and 
ribboned  popinjays  of  to-day,  with  their  loose 
breeches  and  their  bell-mouthed  boots,  I  think  of 
my  comrade  and  rival  who  won  Cahors  for  the 
King.  And  I  smile, 


PART  II 


THE  DIAEY  OF  A  STATESMAN 


THE  DIAEY  OF  A  STATESMAN 

***** 
THAT  which  I  am  about  to  insert  in  this  place 
may  seem  to  some  to  be  trifling,  and  on  a  parity 
with  the  diverting  story  of  M.  Boisrose,  which  I 
have  set  down  in  an  earlier  part  of  my  memoirs. 
But  among  the  calumnies  of  those  who  have  not 
since  the  death  of  the  late  King  ceased  to  attack 
me,  the  statement  that  I  kept  from  his  Majesty 
things  which  should  have  reached  his  ears,  has 
had  a  prominent  place ;  though  a  thousand  times 
refuted  by  my  friends.  I  take  in  hand,  therefore, 
to  show  by  this  episode,  curious  in  itself,  the  full 
knowledge  of  affairs  which  the  King  had,  and  to 
prove  that  in  many  matters,  which  were  never 
permitted  to  become  public,  he  took  a  personal 
share,  worthy  as  much  of  Haroun  as  of  Alexander. 
It  was  my  custom,  before  I  entered  upon  those 
negotiations  with  the  Prince  of  Conde  which  ter- 
minated in  the  recovery  of  the  estate  of  Villebon, 
where  I  now  reside,  to  spend  a  part  of  the  autumn 
and  winter  at  Rosny.  On  these  occasions,  I  was 
in  the  habit  of  moving  from  Paris  with  a  consid- 
erable train,  including  not  only  my  Swiss,  pages, 
and  grooms,  but  the  maids  of  honour  and  wait- 
ing-women of  the  Duchess.  We  halted  to  take 


214  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

dinner  at  Poissy,  and  generally  contrived  to  reach 
Rosny  towards  nightfall,  so  as  to  sup  by  the  light 
of  flambeaux,  in  a  manner  enjoyable  enough, 
though  devoid  of  that  state  which  I  have  ever 
maintained,  and  enjoined  upon  my  children,  as  at 
once  the  privilege  and  burden  of  rank. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  I  had  for  my 
favourite  charger  the  sorrel  horse  which  the  Duke 
of  Mercoeur  presented  to  me  with  a  view  to  my 
good  offices  at  the  time  of  the  King's  entry  into 
Paris;  and  which  I  honestly  transferred  to  his 
Majesty  in  accordance  with  a  principle  laid  down 
in  another  place.  The  King  insisted  on  returning 
it  to  me,  and  for  several  years  I  rode  it  on  these 
annual  visits  to  Kosny.  What  was  more  remark- 
able was,  that  on  each  of  these  occasions  it  cast  a 
shoe  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  al- 
ways when  we  were  within  a  short  league  of  the 
village  of  Aubergenville.  Though  I  never  had  with 
me  less  than  a  half  a  score  of  led  horses,  I  had  such 
an  affection  for  the  sorrel  that  I  preferred  to  wait 
until  it  was  shod,  rather  than  accommodate  my- 
self to  a  nag  of  less  easy  paces ;  and  would  allow 
my  household  to  precede  me,  while  I  stayed  be- 
hind with  at  most  a  guard  or  two,  my  valet,  and 
a  page. 

The  forge  at  Aubergenville  was  kept  by  a  smith 
of  some  skill,  a  cheerful  fellow,  whom  I  rewarded, 
in  view  rather  of  my  position  than  his  services, 
with  a  gold  piece.  His  joy  at  receiving  what  was 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       215 

to  him  the  income  of  three  months  was  great,  and 
never  failed  to  reimburse  me ;  in  addition  to  which 
I  took  some  pleasure  in  unbending,  and  learning 
from  this  simple  peasant  and  loyal  man,  what  the 
tax-payers  were  saying  of  me  and  my  reforms — a 
duty  I  felt  I  owed  to  the  King  my  master. 

As  a  man  of  breeding,  it  would  ill  become  me  to 
set  down  the  homely  truths  I  thus  learned.  The 
conversations  of  the  vulgar  are  little  suited  to  a 
nobleman's  memoirs.  But  in  this  I  distinguish 
between  the  Duke  of  Sully  and  the  King's  min- 
ister ;  and  it  is  in  the  latter  capacity  that  I  relate 
what  passed  on  these  diverting  occasions.  "Ho  ! 
Simon,"  I  would  say,  encouraging  the  poor  man 
as  he  came  bowing  before  me.  "How  goes  it,  my 
friend?" 

"Badly,"  he  would  answer,  "very  badly  until 
your  lordship  came  this  way." 

"And  how  was  that,  little  man?" 

"Ah,  it  is  the  roads!"  he  always  replied,  shak- 
ing his  bald  head  as  he  began  to  set  about  his 
business.  "The  roads  since  your  lordship  became 
Surveyor-General,  are  so  good,  that  not  one  horse 
in  a  hundred  leaves  its  shoe  in  a  slough !  And 
then  there  are  so  few  highwaymen,  that  not  one 
robber's  plates  do  I  replace  in  a  twelvemonth ! 
That  is  where  it  is." 

At  this  I  was  highly  delighted.  "Still,  since  I 
began  to  pass  this  way  times  have  not  been  so 
bad  with  you,  Simon,"  I  would  answer. 


216  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Thereto  he  had  one  invariable  reply.  "No, 
thanks  to  St.  Genevie"ve  and  your  Lordship,  whom 
we  call  in  this  village  the  poor  man's  friend,  I 
have  a  fowl  in  the  pot." 

This  phrase  so  pleased  me,  that  I  repeated  it  to 
the  king.  It  tickled  his  fancy  also,  and  for  many 
years  it  was  a  common  remark  of  that  good  and 
great  ruler,  that  he  would  fain  live  to  see  every 
peasant  with  a  fowl  in  his  pot. 

"But  why,"  I  remember,  I  once  asked  this 
honest  fellow— it  was  on  the  last  occasion  of  the 
sorrel  falling  lame  there — "do  you  thank  St. 
Genevieve?" 

"She  is  my  patron  saint,"  he  answered. 

"Then  you  are  a  Parisian?" 

"Your  lordship  is  always  right." 

"But  does  her  saintship  do  you  any  good?"  I 
asked  curiously. 

"By  your  lordship's  leave.  My  wife  prays  to 
her,  and  she  loosens  the  nails  in  the  sorrel's 
shoes." 

"Then  she  pays  off  an  old  grudge,"  I  answered. 
"There  was  a  time  when  Paris  liked  me  little. 
But  hark  you,  Master  Smith !  I  am  not  sure  'tis 
not  an  act  of  treason  to  conspire  with  Madame 
Genevieve  against  the  comfort  of  the  King's  min- 
ister. What  think  you,  you  rascal?  Can  you 
pass  the  justice-elm  without  a  shiver?" 

This  threw  the  simple  fellow  into  great  fear, 
which  the  sight  of  the  livre  of  gold  converted  into 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       217 

joy.  Leaving  him  still  staring  at  his  fortune,  I 
rode  away.  But  when  we  had  gone  some  little 
distance,  the  aspect  of  his  face,  when  I  charged 
him  with  treason,  or  my  own  unassisted  dis- 
crimination, suggested  a  clue  to  the  phenomenon. 

"La  Trape,"  I  said  to  my  valet— the  same  who 
was  with  me  at  Cahors — "what  is  the  name  of  the 
inn-keeper  at  Poissy,  at  whose  house  we  are  ac- 
customed to  dine?" 

"Andrew,  may  it  please  your  lordship." 

"Ha !  Ha !  I  thought  so  !"  I  exclaimed,  smiting 
my  thigh.  "Simon  and  Andrew  his  brother! 
Answer,  knave;  and  if  you  have  permitted  me  to 
be  robbed  these  many  times,  tremble  for  your 
ears !  Is  he  not  brother  to  the  smith  at  Auber- 
genville  who  has  just  shod  my  horse?" 

La  Trape  professed  to  be  ignorant  on  the  point. 
But  a  groom  who  had  stayed  with  me,  having 
sought  my  permission  to  speak,  said  it  was  so, 
adding  that  Master  Andrew  had  risen  in  the  world 
through  dealings  in  hay,  which  he  was  wont  to 
take  into  Paris  and  sell,  and  that  he  did  not  now 
acknowledge,  or  see  anything  of  his  brother,  the 
smith. 

On  receiving  this  confirmation  of  my  suspicion, 
my  vanity  as  well  as  my  love  of  justice  led  me  to 
act  with  the  promptitude  which  I  have  exhibited 
in  greater  emergencies.  I  rated  La  Trape  for  his 
carelessness  in  permitting  this  deception  to  be 
practised;  and  the  main  body  of  my  attendants 


218  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

being  now  in  sight,  I  ordered  him  to  take  two 
Swiss  and  arrest  both  brothers  without  delay. 
There  remained  three  hours  of  daylight,  and  I 
judged  that  by  hard  riding  they  might  reach 
Bosny  with  their  prisoners  before  bedtime. 

I  spent  some  time,  while  still  on  the  road,  in 
considering  what  punishment  I  should  inflict  on 
the  culprits,  and  finally  laid  aside  the  purpose  I 
had  at  first  conceived — of  dealing  severely  with 
them— in  favour  of  a  plan  that  I  thought  might 
offer  me  some  amusement.  For  the  execution  of 
this,  I  depended  upon  Maignan,  my  equerry,  a 
man  of  lively  imagination,  and  the  same  who  had, 
of  his  own  motion,  arranged  and  carried  out  the 
triumphal  procession  in  which  I  was  borne  to 
Kosny,  after  the  battle  of  Ivry.  Before  I  sat  down 
to  supper,  I  gave  him  his  directions;  and,  as  I 
had  expected,  news  was  brought  to  me,  while  I 
was  at  table,  that  the  prisoners  were  without. 

On  this,  I  informed  the  Duchess  and  the  com- 
pany— for,  as  was  usual,  a  number  of  my  country 
neighbours  had  come  to  compliment  me  on  my 
return— that  there  was  sport  of  a  rare  kind  on 
foot;  and  we  adjourned,  Maignan  and  four  pages 
bearing  lights  before  us,  to  that  end  of  the  terrace 
which  abuts  on  the  linden  avenue.  Here  a  score  of 
grooms,  holding  aloft  torches,  had  been  arranged 
in  a  semicircle,  so  that  they  enclosed  an  im- 
promptu theatre,  which  was  as  light  as  in  the  day. 
On  a  sloping  bank  at  the  end  of  the  terrace,  seats 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       219 

had  been  placed  for  those  who  had  supped  at  my 
table,  while  the  rest  of  the  company  found  such 
places  of  vantage  as  they  could,  their  number,  in- 
deed, amounting,  with  my  household,  to  two  hun- 
dred persons.  In  the  centre  of  the  open  space  a 
small  forge-fire  had  been  kindled,  the  red  glow  of 
which  added  much  to  the  strangeness  of  the  scene ; 
and  on  the  anvil  beside  it  were  ranged  a  number 
of  horses'  and  donkeys'  shoes,  with  a  full  comple- 
ment of  tools  used  by  smiths. 

All  being  ready,  I  gave  the  word  to  bring  in  the 
prisoners;  and,  escorted  by  La  Trape  and  six  of 
my  guards,  they  were  marched  into  the  arena.  In 
their  pale  and  terrified  faces,  and  the  shaking 
limbs  which  scarce  supported  them,  I  read  both 
the  consciousness  of  guilt  and  the  apprehension  of 
immediate  punishment ;  it  was  plain  that  they  ex- 
pected nothing  less.  I  was  very  willing  to  play 
with  their  fears,  and  for  some  time  looked  at  them 
in  silence,  while  all  wondered  with  lively  curiosity 
what  would  ensue.  In  the  end,  I  addressed  them 
gravely,  telling  the  innkeeper  that  I  knew  well  he 
had  loosened  each  year  a  shoe  of  my  horse,  in 
order  that  his  brother  might  profit  by  the  job  of 
replacing  it ;  and  then  I  proceeded  to  reprove  the 
smith  for  the  ingratitude  which  had  led  him  to 
return  my  bounty  by  the  conception  of  so  knavish 
a  trick. 

Upon  this  they  confessed  their  guilt,  and  flinging 
themselves  upon  their  knees,  with  many  tears, 


220  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

begged  for  mercy.    After  a  decent  interval  I  per- 
mitted myself  to  be  moved. 

"Your  lives  shall  be  spared,"  I  pronounced. 
"  But  punished  you  must  be.  I  ordain  that  Simon 
the  smith  fit,  nail,  and  properly  secure  a  pair  of 
iron  shoes  to  Andrew's  heels,  and  that  then, 
Andrew,  who  by  that  time  will  have  learned  some- 
what of  the  smith's  art,  do  the  same  to  Simon. 
So  will  you  both  be  taught  to  avoid  such  tricks 
in  the  future." 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that  a  judgment  so 
justly  adapted  to  the  offence  charmed  all  save  the 
culprits;  and  in  a  hundred  ways  the  pleasure  of 
those  present  was  evinced :  to  such  a  degree  in- 
deed that  Maignan  had  difficulty  in  restoring 
gravity  to  the  assemblage.  This  done,  however, 
Master  Andrew  was  taken  in  hand,  and  his  wooden 
shoes  removed.  The  tools  of  his  trade  were  placed 
before  Simon,  but  he  cast  glances  so  piteous,  first 
at  his  brother's  feet,  and  then  at  the  shoes,  as 
again  gave  rise  to  an  amount  of  merriment  that 
surpassed  all,  my  pages  in  particular  well-nigh  for- 
getting my  presence,  and  rolling  about  in  a  man- 
ner unpardonable  at  another  time.  However,  I 
rebuked  them,  and  was  about  to  order  the  sen- 
tence to  be  carried  into  effect,  when  the  remem- 
brance of  the  many  pleasant  simplicities  which  the 
smith  had  uttered  to  me,  acting  upon  a  natural 
disposition  to  mercy  which  the  most  calumnious 
of  my  enemies  have  never  questioned,  induced  me 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       221 

to  give  the  prisoners  a  chance  of  escape.  "Lis- 
ten," I  said,  "Simon  and  Andrew.  Your  sentence 
has  been  pronounced  and  will  be  executed,  unless 
you  can  avail  yourself  of  the  condition  I  now 
offer.  You  shall  have  three  minutes :  if  in  that 
time  either  of  you  can  make  a  good  joke,  he  shall 
go  free.  If  not — let  a  man  attend  to  the  bellows, 
La  Trape!" 

This  charmed  my  neighbours,  who  were  now 
well  assured  that  I  had  not  promised  them  a  novel 
entertainment  without  good  grounds;  for  the 
grimaces  of  the  two  knaves  thus  bidden  to  jest  if 
they  would  save  their  skins  were  so  diverting  they 
would  have  made  a  nun  laugh.  The  two  looked 
at  me  with  their  eyes  as  wide  as  plates,  and  for 
the  whole  of  the  time  of  grace  never  a  word  could 
they  utter  save  howls  for  mercy.  "Simon,"  I  said 
gravely,  when  the  time  was  up,  "have  you  a 
joke?  No.  Andrew,  my  friend,  have  you  a  joke? 
No.  Then " 

I  was  about  to  order  the  sentence  to  be  carried 
out  when  the  innkeeper  flung  himself  again  upon 
his  knees  and  cried  out  loudly — as  much  to  my 
astonishment  as  to  the  regret  of  the  bystanders, 
who  were  bent  on  seeing  so  strange  a  shoeing 
feat — "  One  word,  my  lord  !  One  word  !  I  can 
give  you  no  joke !  But  I  can  do  a  service,  a  ser- 
vice to  the  King !  I  can  disclose  a  plot,  a  wicked 
conspiracy  against  him ! " 

I  need  not  say  how  greatly  I  was  taken  aback 


222  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

by  this  public  announcement.  But  I  had  been  too 
long  in  the  King's  employment  not  to  have  re- 
marked how  strangely  things  are  brought  to 
light ;  and  on  hearing  the  man's  words,  which  were 
followed  by  a  stricken  silence,  I  did  not  fail  to 
look  sharply  at  the  faces  of  such  of  those  present 
as  it  was  possible  to  suspect.  I  failed,  however,  to 
observe  any  sign  of  confusion  or  dismay,  or  any- 
thing more  particular  than  such  a  statement  was 
calculated  to  produce.  Doubting  much  whether 
the  man  was  not  playing  with  me,  I  then  ad- 
dressed him  sternly,  warning  him  to  beware  lest  in 
his  anxiety  to  save  his  heels  by  falsely  accusing 
others,  he  lose  his  head.  For  that,  if  his  con- 
spiracy should  prove  to  be  an  invention  of  his 
own,  I  should  certainly  consider  it  my  duty  to 
hang  him. 

He  still  persisted,  however,  in  his  story,  and  even 
added  desperately,  "It  is  a  plot,  my  lord,  to  as- 
sassinate you  and  the  King  on  the  same  day." 

This  statement  went  home ;  for  I  had  good  rea- 
son to  know  that  at  that  time  the  king  had  alien- 
ated many  by  his  infatuation  for  Madame  de 
Verneuil ;  while  I  had  to  reckon  with  all  whom  my 
pursuit  of  his  interests  injured  in  reality  or  ap- 
pearance. Forthwith  I  directed  that  the  prisoners 
should  be  led  in  to  the  chamber  adjoining  my 
private  closet,  and  taking  the  precaution  to  call 
my  guards  about  me,  since  I  knew  not  what  at- 
tempt despair  might  not  breed,  I  withdrew  myself, 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       223 

making  such  apologies   to  the  company  as  the 
nature  of  the  case  permitted. 

I  ordered  Simon  the  smith  to  be  first  brought 
before  me,  and  in  the  presence  of  Maignan  I 
severely  examined  him  as  to  his  knowledge  of  any 
conspiracy.  He  denied,  however,  that  he  had 
heard  of  the  matters  referred  to  by  his  brother, 
and  persisted  so  firmly  in  the  denial  that  I  was 
inclined  to  believe  him.  In  the  end  he  was  re- 
moved and  Andrew  was  brought  in.  The  innkeep- 
er's demeanour  was  such  as  I  have  often  observed 
in  intriguers  brought  suddenly  to  book.  He 
averred  the  existence  of  the  conspiracy  and  that 
its  objects  were  those  which  he  had  stated,  and  he 
offered  to  give  up  his  associates;  but  he  condi- 
tioned that  he  should  do  this  in  his  own  way, 
undertaking  to  conduct  me  and  one  other  person 
— but  no  more,  lest  the  alarm  should  be  given — to 
a  place  in  Paris  on  the  following  night,  where  we 
could  hear  the  plotters  state  their  plans  and  de- 
signs. In  this  way  only,  he  urged,  could  proof 
positive  be  obtained. 

I  was  naturally  startled  by  this  proposal,  and 
inclined  to  think  it  a  trap.  But  more  leisurely 
consideration  dispelled  my  fears.  The  innkeeper 
had  held  no  parley  with  any  one  save  his  guards, 
since  his  arrest,  and  could  neither  have  warned  his 
accomplices,  nor  acquainted  them  with  a  design 
the  execution  of  which  depended  on  his  confession 
to  me.  In  the  end,  therefore,  I  accepted  his  terms 


224  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

— with  a  private  reservation  that  I  would  have 
help  at  hand ;  and  before  daybreak  next  morning 
I  left  Rosny,  which  I  had  only  seen  by  torchlight, 
with  my  prisoner  and  a  select  body  of  Swiss.  We 
entered  Paris  in  the  afternoon  in  three  parties, 
with  as  little  parade  as  possible,  and  resorted  to 
the  Arsenal,  whence,  as  soon  as  evening  fell,  I 
made  my  way  to  the  King. 

A  return  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  was  as 
great  a  surprise  to  the  Court  as  to  Henry,  and  I 
was  not  slow  to  mark  the  discomposure  which  ap- 
peared on  more  than  one  face  as  the  crowd  in  the 
chamber  fell  back  for  me  to  approach  my  master. 
Still,  I  was  careful  to  remember  that  this  might 
arise  from  other  causes  than  guilt.  The  King  re- 
ceived me  with  his  wonted  affection ;  and  divining 
that  I  must  have  something  important  to  com- 
municate, he  withdrew  with  me  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  chamber,  where  we  were  out  of  earshot  of 
the  Court.  I  related  the  story  to  his  Majesty, 
keeping  back  nothing. 

He  shook  his  head,  saying  merely,  "The  fish,  to 
escape  the  frying-pan,  grandmaster,  will  jump  into 
the  fire.  And  human  nature,  save  in  our  case, 
who  can  trust  one  another,  is  akin  to  the  fishy." 

I  was  touched  by  the  compliment,  but  not  con- 
vinced. "You  have  not  seen  the  man,  sire,"  I 
said.  "And  I  have  had  that  advantage." 

"You  believe  him?" 

"In  part,"  I  answered,  with  caution.    "So  far  as 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      225 

to  be  assured  that  he  thinks  to  save  his  skin, 
which  he  can  only  save  if  he  be  telling  the  truth. 
May  I  beg  you,  sire,"  I  added,  seeing  the  direction 
of  his  glance,  "not  to  look  so  fixedly  at  the  Duke 
of  Epernon?  He  grows  uneasy." 

"'Conscience  makes'— you  know  the  rest." 

"Nay,  sire,  with  submission,"  I  replied,  "I  will 
answer  for  him ;  if  he  be  not  driven  by  apprehen- 
sion to  do  something  reckless." 

"I  am  taking  your  warranty  every  day!"  my 
master  said,  with  the  grace  which  came  so  natural 
to  him.  "But  now  in  this  matter  what  would 
you  have  me  do?" 

"Double  your  guards,  sire,  for  to-night.  That 
is  all.  I  will  answer  for  the  Bastille  and  the  Ar- 
senal; and  holding  these,  we  hold  Paris." 

But  thereupon  the  king  declared  a  decision, 
which  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  combat  with  all 
my  influence.  He  had  conceived  the  idea  of  being 
the  one  to  accompany  me  to  the  rendezvous.  "I 
am  tired  of  the  dice,"  he  complained,  "and  sick  of 
tennis,  at  which  I  know  everybody's  strength. 
Madame  de  Verneuil  is  at  Fontainebleau ;  the 
Queen  is  unwell.  Oh,  Sully,  I  would  the  old  days 
were  back  when  we  had  Nerac  for  our  Paris,  and 
knew  the  saddle  better  than  the  armchair." 

"The  King  belongs  to  his  people." 

" The  fowl  in  the  pot?"  he  replied.  " To  be  sure. 
But  time  enough  to  think  of  that  to-morrow." 
And  do  what  I  would  I  could  not  turn  him.  In 

15 


226  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  end,  therefore,  I  took  my  leave  of  him  as  if  for 
the  night,  and  retired  leaving  him  at  play  with  the 
Duke  of  Epernon.  But  an  hour  later,  towards 
eight  o'clock,  he  made  an  excuse  to  withdraw  to 
his  closet,  and  met  me  outside  the  eastern  gate  of 
the  Louvre.  He  was  masked,  and  had  with  him 
only  Coquet,  the  master  of  the  household.  I  too 
had  taken  a  mask  and  was  esquired  by  Maignan, 
under  whose  orders  were  four  Swiss — whom  I  had 
chosen  because  they  spoke  no  French — and  who 
had  Andrew  in  charge.  I  bade  Maignan  follow  the 
innkeeper's  directions,  and  we  proceeded  in  two 
parties  through  the  streets  in  the  direction  of  the 
Arsenal,  until  we  reached  the  mouth  of  an  obscure 
lane  near  the  gardens  of  St.  Pol,  so  narrow  that 
the  decrepit  wooden  houses  shut  out  well-nigh  all 
view  of  the  sky.  Here  the  prisoner  halted  and 
called  upon  me  to  fulfil  the  terms  of  my  agree- 
ment. With  misgiving  I  complied.  I  bade  Maig- 
nan remain  with  the  Swiss  at  a  distance  of  fifty 
paces — directing  him  to  come  up  only  if  I  should 
whistle  or  give  the  alarm ;  then  I  myself,  with  the 
King  and  Andrew,  proceeded  onward  in  the  deep 
shadow  of  the  houses.  I  kept  my  hand  on  my 
pistol,  which  I  had  previously  showed  to  the 
prisoner,  intimating  that  on  the  first  sign  of 
treachery  I  should  blow  his  brains  out.  However, 
in  spite  of  this  precaution,  I  felt  uncomfortable  to 
the  last  degree.  I  blamed  myself  for  allowing  the 
King  to  expose  himself  to  this  unnecessary  dan- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      227 

ger;  while  the  meanness  of  the  quarter,  the  fetid 
air,  the  darkness  of  the  night  which  was  cold  and 
stormy,  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  event  lowered 
my  spirits,  and  made  every  splash  in  the  kennel, 
or  stumble  on  the  reeking  slippery  pavements — 
matters  over  which  the  King  grew  merry — seem  no 
light  troubles  to  me.  We  came  at  length  to  a 
house  which,  as  far  as  we  could  judge  in  the  dark- 
ness, seemed  to  be  of  rather  greater  pretensions 
than  its  fellows.  Here,  our  guide  stopped,  and 
whispered  to  us  to  mount  some  steps  to  a  raised 
wooden  gallery,  which  intervened  between  the  lane 
and  the  doorway.  On  this,  beside  the  door,  a 
couple  of  unglazed  windows  looked  forth.  The 
wooden  lattice  which  covered  one  was  sufficiently 
open  to  allow  us  to  see  a  large  bare  crazy  room, 
lighted  by  a  couple  of  rushlights.  Directing  us  to 
place  ourselves  close  to  this  window,  the  innkeeper 
knocked  at  the  door  in  a  peculiar  fashion,  entered, 
and  appeared  at  once  in  the  lighted  room,  of 
which  we  had  a  view.  Gazing  through  the  window 
we  were  surprised  to  find  that  the  only  person 
within  save  Andrew,  was  a  young  woman,  who, 
crouching  over  a  smouldering  fire,  was  crooning  a 
lullaby  while  she  attended  to  a  large  black  pot. 

"Good  evening,  mistress!"  the  innkeeper  said, 
advancing  to  the  fire.  He  masked  well  his  ner- 
vousness: nevertheless,  it  was  patent  to  us. 

"Good  evening,  Master  Andrew,"  she  replied, 
looking  up  and  nodding,  but  showing  no  sign  of 


228  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

surprise  at  his  appearance.  "  Martin  is  away,  but 
he  may  return  at  any  moment." 

"To-night?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  he  still  of  the  same  mind?" 

"Quite." 

"Ah!  That  is  so,  is  it.  And  what  of  Sully?" 
he  continued,  somewhat  hoarsely.  "Is  he  to  die 
also?" 

"They  have  decided  that  he  must,"  the  girl 
answered  gloomily. 

On  that,  it  may  be  believed  that  I  listened; 
while  the  King  by  a  nudge  in  my  side,  seemed  to 
rally  me  on  the  destiny  so  coolly  arranged  for  me. 
"Martin,"  the  girl  continued,  before  the  chill  sen. 
sation  had  ceased  to  run  down  my  back,  "Martin 
says  it  is  no  good  killing  the  other,  unless  he 
goes  too— they  have  worked  so  long  together. 
But  it  vexes  me  sadly,  Master  Andrew,"  she 
added,  with  a  certain  break  in  her  voice.  "Sadly 
it  vexes  me.  I  could  not  sleep  last  night  for 
thinking  of  it,  and  the  risk  Martin  runs.  And  I 
shall  sleep  less— when  it  is  done." 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  said  that  rascally  innkeeper, 
and  stirred  the  fire.  "  Think  less  about  it.  Things 
will  grow  worse  and  worse,  if  they  are  let  live. 
The  King  has  done  harm  enough  already.  And 
he  grows  old  besides.  And  to  put  off  a  step  of 
this  kind  is  dangerous.  If  a  word  got  about— 'tis 
ruin." 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      229 

"That  is  true !"  the  girl  answered,  gazing  drear- 
ily at  the  pot.  "And  no  doubt  the  sooner  the 
King  is  put  out  of  the  way  the  better.  I  do  not 
say  a  word  for  him.  He  must  go.  But  'tis  Sully 
troubles  me.  He  has  done  nought,  and  though 
he  may  become  as  bad  as  the  others — he  may 
not.  It  is  that,  and  the  risk  Martin  runs  trouble 
me.  'Twould  be  death  for  him." 

"Ay,"  said  Andrew,  cutting  her  short;  "that's 
so."  And  they  both  looked  at  the  fire. 

At  this  I  took  the  liberty  of  gently  touching  the 
King;  but,  by  a  motion  of  his  finger,  he  en  joined 
silence.  We  stooped  still  farther  forward  so  as  to 
better  command  the  room.  The  girl  was  rocking 
herself  to  and  fro  in  evident  anxiety.  "If  we 
killed  the  King,"  she  said,  "Martin  declares  we 
should  be  no  better  off,  as  long  as  Sully  lives. 
Both  or  neither,  he  says.  Both  or  neither.  He 
grew  mad  about  it.  Both  or  neither !  But  I  do 
not  know.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  It  was 
a  sad  day  when  he  brought  the  Duke  here,  Master 
Andrew,  and  one  I  fear  we  shall  rue  as  long  as  we 
live!" 

It  was  now  the  King's  turn  to  be  moved.  He 
grasped  my  wrist  so  forcibly  that  I  restrained  a 
cry  with  difficulty.  "The  Duke!"  he  whispered 
harshly  in  my  ear.  "Then  they  are  Epernon's 
tools !  Where  is  your  warranty  now,  Rosny?" 

I  confess  that  I  trembled.  I  knew  well  that  the 
King,  particular  in  courtesies,  never  forgot  to  call 


230  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

his  servants  by  their  titles  save  in  two  cases: 
when  he  indicated  by  the  error,  as  once  in  Mar- 
shal Biron's  affair,  his  intention  to  promote  or 
degrade ;  or  when  he  was  moved  to  the  depths  of 
his  nature  and  fell  into  an  old  habit.  I  did  not 
dare  to  reply,  but  I  listened  greedily  for  more  in- 
formation. 

"When  is  it  to  be  done?"  the  innkeeper  asked, 
sinking  his  voice,  and  glancing  round  as  if  he 
would  call  especial  attention  to  this. 

"That  depends  upon  Master  La  Biviere,"  the 
girl  answered.  "To-morrow  night,  I  understand, 
if  the  physician  can  have  the  stuff  ready." 

I  met  the  King's  eyes,  shining  hi  the  fault  light, 
which,  issuing  from  the  window,  fell  upon  him.  Of 
all  things  he  hated  treachery,  and  La  Kiviere  was 
his  first  physician.  At  this  very  time,  as  I  well 
knew,  he  was  treating  his  Majesty  for  a  slight  de- 
rangement, which  the  King  had  brought  upon 
himself  by  his  imprudence.  This  doctor  had  for- 
merly been  in  the  employment  of  the  Bouillon 
family,  who  had  surrendered  his  services  to  the 
King.  Neither  I  nor  his  Majesty  had  trusted  the 
Duke  of  Bouillon  for  the  last  year  past,  so  that 
we  were  not  surprised  by  this  hint  that  he  also 
was  privy  to  the  design. 

Despite  our  anxiety  not  to  miss  a  word,  an  ap- 
proaching step  warned  us  to  leave  the  window 
for  a  moment.  More  than  once  before  we  had 
done  so  to  escape  the  notice  of  a  wayfarer  passing 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       231 

up  or  down.  But  this  time  I  had  a  difficulty  in  in- 
ducing the  King  to  adopt  the  precaution.  Yet  it 
was  well  that  I  succeeded,  for  the  person  who 
came  towards  us  did  not  pass,  but,  mounting  the 
steps,  almost  within  touch  of  me,  entered  the 
house. 

"  The  plot  thickens,"  the  King  muttered.  "  Who 
is  this?" 

At  the  moment  he  asked  I  was  racking  my 
brain  to  remember.  I  have  a  good  eye  and  a 
trained  memory  for  faces ;  and  this  was  one  I  had 
seen  several  times.  The  features  were  so  familiar 
that  I  suspected  the  man  of  being  a  courtier  in 
disguise,  for  he  was  shabbily  dressed;  and  I  ran 
over  the  names  of  several  persons  whom  I  knew 
to  be  Epernon's  friends  or  agents.  But  he  was 
none  of  these,  and,  obeying  the  King's  gesture, 
I  bent  myself  anew  to  the  task  of  listening. 

The  girl  looked  up  at  the  man's  entrance,  but 
did  not  rise.  "You  are  late,  Martin,"  she  said. 

"A  little,"  the  new-comer  answered.  "How  do 
you  do,  Master  Andrew?  What  news  of  Aubergen- 
ville?"  And  then,  not  without  a  trace  of  affec- 
tion in  his  tone,  "What,  still  vexing,  my  girl?" 
he  added,  laying  a  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 
"You  have  too  soft  a  heart  for  this  business.  I 
always  said  so." 

She  sighed,  but  made  no  answer. 

"You  have  made  up  your  mind  to  it,  I  hear," 
said  the  innkeeper. 


232  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"  That  is  it.  Needs  must  when  the  devil  drives ! " 
the  man  replied  jauntily.  He  had  a  bold,  reck- 
less, determined  air;  yet  in  his  face  I  thought  I 
saw  still  surviving  some  traces  of  a  better  spirit. 

"The  devil  in  this  case  was  the  Duke,"  quoth 
Andrew. 

"  Ay,  curse  him !  I  would  I  had  cut  the  dog's 
liver  out  before  he  crossed  my  threshold,"  cried 
the  man,  with  passion.  "But  there,  'tis  done! 
It  is  too  late  to  say  that  now.  What  has  to  be 
done,  has  to  be  done." 

"How  are  you  going  about  it?  Poison,  the 
mistress  says.  And  it  is  safest." 

"Yes,  she  will  have  it  so ;  but,  if  I  had  my  way," 
the  man  continued  hardily,  "I  would  out  one  of 
these  nights  and  cut  the  dogs'  throats  without 
more." 

"You  could  never  escape,  Martin!"  the  girl 
cried,  clasping  her  hands  and  rising  in  excitement. 
"It  would  be  hopeless.  It  would  be  throwing 
away  your  own  life.  And  besides,  you  promised 
me." 

"Well,  have  it  so.  It  is  to  be  done  your  way, 
so  there  is  an  end,"  the  man  answered  wearily. 
"It  is  more  expensive,  that  is  all.  Give  me  my 
supper.  The  devil  take  the  King,  and  Sully  too ! 
He  will  soon  have  them ! " 

Master  Andrew  rose  on  this,  and  I  took  his 
movement  towards  the  door  for  a  signal  to  us  to 
retire.  He  came  out  presently,  after  bidding  the 


THE  DIAKY  OF  A  STATESMAN       233 

two  good  night,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 
He  found  us  standing  in  the  street  waiting  for 
him,  and  forthwith  he  fell  on  his  knees  in  the 
mud  and  looked  up  at  me,  the  perspiration  stand- 
ing thick  on  his  white  face.  "My  lord,"  he  cried 
hoarsely,  "I  have  earned  my  pardon!" 

"If  you  go  on,"  I  said  encouragingly,  "as  you 
have  begun,  have  no  fear."  And  I  whistled  up 
the  Swiss,  and  bade  Maignan  go  in  with  them  and 
arrest  the  man  and  woman  with  as  little  dis- 
turbance as  possible.  While  this  was  being  done 
we  waited  without,  keeping  a  sharp  eye  upon  the 
informer,  whose  terror,  I  noted  with  suspicion, 
seemed  to  be  increasing  rather  than  diminishing. 
He  did  not  try  to  escape,  however,  and  Maignan 
presently  came  to  tell  us  that  he  had  executed 
the  arrest  without  difficulty  or  resistance. 

The  importance  of  arriving  at  the  truth  before 
Epernon  and  the  greater  conspirators  took  the 
alarm  was  so  vividly  present  to  the  minds  both 
of  the  King  and  myself,  that  we  decided  to  ex- 
amine the  prisoners  in  the  house,  rather  than 
hazard  the  delay  which  the  removal  to  a  fit  place 
must  occasion.  Accordingly  taking  the  precaution 
to  post  Coquet  in  the  street  outside,  and  to  plant 
a  burly  Swiss  in  the  doorway,  the  King  and  I 
entered.  I  removed  my  mask,  as  I  did  so,  being 
aware  of  the  necessity  of  gaining  the  prisoners' 
confidence,  but  I  begged  the  King  to  retain  his. 
As  I  had  expected,  the  man  immediately  recognized 


234  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

me,  and  fell  on  his  knees.  A  nearer  view  con- 
firmed the  notion  I  had  previously  entertained 
that  his  features  were  familiar  to  me,  but  I  could 
not  remember  his  name.  I  thought  this  a  good 
starting  point  for  the  examination;  and  bidding 
Maignan  withdraw,  I  assumed  an  air  of  mildness, 
and  asked  the  fellow  his  name. 

''Martin  only,  please  your  lordship,"  he  an- 
swered; adding  "Once  I  sold  you  two  dogs,  sir, 
for  the  chase;  and  to  your  lady  a  lapdog  called 
Ninette,  no  larger  than  her  hand.  'Twas  of  three 
pounds  weight  and  no  more." 

I  remembered  the  knave  then,  as  a  well-known 
dog  dealer,  who  had  been  much  about  the  court  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  the  Third  and  later :  and  I  saw 
at  once  how  convenient  a  tool  he  might  be  made 
since  he  could  be  seen  in  converse  with  people  of 
all  ranks  without  arousing  suspicion.  The  man's 
face  as  he  spoke  expressed  so  much  fear  and 
surprise  that  I  determined  to  try  what  I  had  often 
found  successful  in  the  case  of  greater  criminals; 
to  squeeze  him  for  a  confession,  while  still  ex- 
cited by  his  arrest,  and  before  he  had  had  time 
to  consider  what  his  chances  of  support  at  the 
hands  of  his  confederates  might  be.  I  charged 
him  therefore  to  tell  the  whole  truth  as  he  hoped 
for  the  King's  mercy.  He  heard  me,  gazing  at  me 
piteously;  but  his  only  answer,  to  my  surprise, 
was  that  he  had  nothing  to  confess.  Nothing! 
nothing,  as  he  hoped  for  mercy. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       235 

"  Come !  come ! "  I  replied.  "  This  will  avail  you 
nothing.  If  you  do  not  speak  quickly,  and  to 
the  point,  we  shall  find  means  to  compel  you. 
Who  counselled  you  to  attempt  his  Majesty's 
life?" 

He  stared  at  me,  at  that,  so  stupidly,  and  cried 
out  with  so  real  an  appearance  of  horror,  "How? 
I  attempt  the  King's  life?  God  forbid!"  that  I 
doubted  we  had  before  us  a  more  dangerous  ras- 
cal than  I  had  thought ;  and  I  hastened  to  bring 
him  to  the  point. 

"What  then — "  I  cried,  frowning — "of  the  stuff 
Master  La  Biviere  is  to  give  you?  To  take  the 
King's  life?  To-morrow  night?  Oh,  we  know 
something  I  assure  you.  Bethink  you  quickly, 
and  find  your  tongue  if  you  would  have  an  easy 
death." 

I  expected  to  see  his  self-control  break  down  at 
this  proof  of  our  knowledge.  But  he  only  stared 
at  me  with  the  same  look  of  bewilderment,  and  I 
was  about  to  bid  them  bring  in  the  informer  that 
I  might  see  the  two  front  to  front,  when  the  fe- 
male prisoner  who  had  hitherto  stood  beside  him, 
weeping  in  such  distress  and  terror  as  were  to  be 
expected  in  a  woman  of  that  class,  suddenly 
stopped  her  tears  and  lamentations.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  she  might  make  a  better  witness.  I 
turned  to  her,  but  when  I  would  have  questioned 
her,  she  broke  on  the  instant  into  hysterics, 
screaming  and  laughing  in  the  wildest  manner. 


236  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

From  that,  I  remember,  I  learned  nothing, 
though  it  greatly  annoyed  me.  But  there  was 
one  present  who  did,  and  that  was  the  King. 
He  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  gripping  it  with 
a  force,  that  I  read  as  a  command  to  be  silent. 
''Where,"  he  said  to  the  man,  "do  you  keep  the 
King  and  Sully  and  The  Duke,  my  friend?" 

"The  King  and  Sully — with  his  lordship's 
leave — "  the  man  said  quickly,  but  with  a  fright- 
ened glance  at  me — "are  in  the  kennels  at  the  back 
of  the  house ;  but  it  is  not  safe  to  go  near  them. 
The  King  is  raving  mad,  and — and  the  other  dog 
is  sickening,  I  fear.  The  Duke  we  had  to  kill  a 
month  back.  He  brought  the  disease  here,  and  I 
have  had  such  losses  through  him  as  have  nearly 
ruined  me,  please  your  lordship.  And  if  the  tale 
that  we  have  got  the  madness  among  the  dogs, 
goes  about " 

"Get  up!  Get  up,  man!"  cried  the  King.  And 
tearing  off  his  mask  he  stamped  up  and  down  the 
room,  so  torn  by  paroxysms  of  laughter  that  he 
choked  himself  whenever  he  attempted  to  speak. 
I  too  now  saw  the  mistake,  but  I  could  not  at 
first  see  it  in  the  same  light.  Commanding  my 
choler  as  well  as  I  could,  I  ordered  one  of  the 
Swiss  to  fetch  in  the  innkeeper,  but  to  admit  no 
one  else. 

The  knave  fell  on  his  knees  as  soon  as  he  saw 
me,  his  cheeks  shaking  like  a  jelly.  "Mercy! 
mercy ! "  was  all  he  could  say. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       237 

"You  have  dared  to  play  with  me?"  I  whispered. 
"With  me?  With  me?" 

"You  bade  me  joke!"  he  sobbed.  "You  bade 
me  joke!" 

I  was  about  to  say  that  it  would  be  his  last 
joke  in  this  world,  for  my  anger  was  fully  aroused, 
but  the  King  intervened. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
"it  has  been  the  most  glorious  jest.  He  has  joked 
indeed.  I  would  not  have  missed  it  for  a  king- 
dom !  Not  for  a  kingdom !  I  command  you, 
Sully,  to  forgive  him." 

On  which  his  Majesty  strictly  charged  the  three 
that  they  should  not,  on  peril  of  their  lives,  tell 
the  story ;  his  regard  for  me,  when  he  had  laughed 
to  satiety,  proving  strong  enough  to  overcome 
his  love  of  the  diverting.  Nor  to  the  best  of  my 
belief  did  they  do  so;  being  so  shrewdly  scared 
when  they  recognized  the  King  that  I  think  they 
never  afterwards  so  much  as  spoke  of  the  affair 
to  one  another.  My  master  further  gave  me  his 
promise  that  he  would  not  disclose  the  matter 
even  to  Madame  de  Verneuil,  or  the  Queen;  and 
upon  these  representations  he  induced  me  freely  to 
forgive  the  innkeeper.  I  may  seem  to  have  dwelt 
longer  than  I  should  on  the  amusing  details  of 
this  conspiracy.  But  alas !  in  twenty-one  years 
of  power,  I  investigated  many,  and  this  one  only 
— and  one  other — can  I  regard  with  satisfaction. 
The  rest  were  so  many  warnings  and  predictions 


238  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

of  the  fate  which,  despite  all  my  care  and  fidelity, 
was  in  store  for  the  King,  my  master. 


Such  were  the  reasons,  which  would  have  led  me 
had  I  followed  the  promptings  of  my  own  sagacity 
to  oppose  the  return  of  the  Jesuits.  It  remains 
for  me  to  add  that  these  arguments  lost  their 
weight  when  set  in  the  balance  against  the  safety 
of  my  beloved  master.  To  this  plea  the  King  him- 
self for  once  condescended,  and  found  those  who 
were  most  strenuous  to  dissuade  him  the  least 
able  to  refute  it;  since  the  less  a  man  loved  the 
Jesuits,  the  more  ready  he  was  to  allow  that  the 
King's  life  could  not  be  safe  while  the  edict  against 
them  remained  in  force.  The  support  which  I 
gave  to  the  King  on  this  occasion  exposed  me  to 
the  utmost  odium  of  my  co-religionists,  and  was 
in  later  times  ill-requited  by  the  Order.  But  an 
incident  which  occurred  while  the  matter  was  still 
in  debate,  and  which  I  now  for  the  first  time 
make  public,  proved  the  wisdom  of  my  conduct. 

Fontainebleau  was  at  this  time  in  the  hands  of 
the  builders,  and  the  King  had  gone  to  spend  his 
Easter  at  Chantilly,  whither  Mademoiselle  d'En- 
tragues  had  also  repaired.  During  his  absence  I 
was  seated  one  morning  in  my  library  at  the 
Arsenal,  when  I  was  informed  that  Father  Cot- 
ton, he  who  at  Nancy  had  presented  the  petition 
of  the  Jesuits,  an<J  who  was  now  in  Paris  pursuing 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      239 

that  business  under  a  safe  conduct,  craved  leave 
to  wait  upon  me.  I  was  not  surprised,  for  I  had 
been  before  this  of  some  service  to  him.  The 
pages  of  the  Court  while  loitering  outside  the 
Louvre,  as  their  custom  is,  had  insulted  the  father 
by  shouting  after  him,  "  Old  Wool  I  Old  Cotton  ! " 
in  imitation  of  the  Paris  street  cry.  For  this  the 
King  at  my  instigation  had  caused  them  to  be 
whipped.  I  supposed  that  the  Jesuit  desired  to 
thank  me  for  this  support— given  in  truth  out  of 
regard  to  discipline  rather  than  to  him;  and  I 
bade  them  admit  him. 

His  first  words  uttered  before  my  secretaries  re- 
tired, indicated  that  this  was  his  errand ;  and  for 
a  few  moments  I  listened  to  such  statements,  and 
myself  made  such  answers  as  became  our  posi- 
tions. Then,  as  he  did  not  go,  I  conceived  the 
notion  that  he  had  come  with  a  further  purpose ; 
and  his  manner,  which  seemed  strangely  lacking 
in  ease,  considering  that  he  was  a  man  of  skill 
and  address,  confirmed  the  notion.  I  waited 
therefore  with  patience,  and  presently  he  named 
his  Majesty  with  some  expressions  of  devotion  to 
his  person.  "I  trust,"  said  he,  "that  the  air  of 
Fontainebleau  agrees  with  him,  M.  de  Rosny." 

"You  mean,  good  father,  of  Chantilly?"  I  an- 
swered.   "He  is  there." 

"Ay,  to  be  sure!"   he  rejoined.    "I  had  for- 
gotten.   He  is,  to  be  sure,  at  Chantilly." 

He  rose  after  that  to  depart,  but  was  delayed 


240  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

by  the  raptures  into  which  he  fell  on  the  subject 
of  the  fire,  which  the  weather  being  cold  for  the 
time  of  year,  I  had  caused  to  be  lit.    "It  burns 
so  brightly,"  said  he,  "that  it  must  be  of  box- 
wood, M.  de  Rosny." 
"Of  boxwood?"  I  exclaimed,  astonished. 
"Ay,  is  it  not?"  he  asked,  looking  at  me  with 
much  simplicity. 

"No!"  I  made  answer  rather  peevishly.  "Who 
ever  heard  of  people  burning  boxwood  in  Paris, 
father?  In  the  south,  perhaps." 

He  apologized  for  his  ignorance  on  the  ground 
of  his  southern  birth,  and  took  his  departure, 
leaving  me  in  doubt  as  to  the  real  purport  of  his 
visit.  I  was,  indeed,  more  troubled  by  the  uncer- 
tainty I  felt  than  another  less  conversant  with 
the  methods  of  the  Jesuits  might  have  been;  for 
I  knew  that  it  was  their  habit  to  drop  a  word 
where  they  dared  not  speak  plainly,  and  I  felt 
myself  put  on  my  mettle  to  interpret  the  father's 
hint.  My  perplexities  were  increased  by  the  belief 
that  he  would  not  have  intervened  in  a  matter  of 
small  moment;  hence  the  conviction  grew  upon 
me  that  while  I  stood  idle  before  the  hearth,  the 
greatest  interests  might  be  at  stake. 

"Michel,"  I  said  at  last,  addressing  the  doyen 
of  my  secretaries,  who  chanced  to  be  a  Provencal, 
"have  you  ever  seen  a  boxwood  fire?" 

He  replied  respectfully,  but  with  some  show  of 
surprise,  that  he  had  done  so,  but  not  often; 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       241 

adding  that  that  wood  was  so  valuable  to  the 
turner  that  few  people  were  extravagant  enough 
to  use  it  for  fuel.  I  assented,  and  felt  the  more 
certain  that  the  Jesuit's  remark  held  a  meaning. 
The  only  other  clue  I  had  consisted  in  the  mis- 
take he  had  made  as  to  the  King's  residence; 
and  this  might  have  dropped  from  him  in  inad- 
vertence. Yet  I  was  inclined  to  think  it  inten- 
tional; and  I  construed  it  as  implying  that  the 
matter  concerned  the  King  personally.  Which  the 
more  alarmed  me. 

I  passed  the  day  in  great  perplexity;  but  to- 
wards evening,  acting  on  a  sudden  thought,  I  sent 
La  Trape,  my  valet,  a  trusty  fellow,  who  had 
saved  my  life  at  Villefranche,  to  the  Three  Pi- 
geons, a  large  inn  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris,  at 
which  travellers  from  north  to  south,  who  do  not 
wish  to  enter  the  city,  are  accustomed  to  change 
horses.  Acquitting  himself  of  the  commission 
with  his  usual  adroitness,  he  returned  with  the 
news  that  a  traveller  of  rank  had  passed  through 
three  days  before,  having  sent  in  advance  to  order 
relays  there  and  at  Essonnes.  La  Trape  reported 
that  the  gentleman  had  remained  in  his  coach, 
and  that  none  of  the  servants  of  the  inn  had 
seen  his  face.  "  But  he  had  companions?"  I  said. 
My  mind  had  not  failed  to  conceive  a  certain  sus- 
picion. 

"  Only  one,  your  grace.    The  rest  were  servants." 

"And  that  one?" 
16 


242  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"A  man  in  the  yard  fancied  that  he  recognized 
M.  de  la  Varenne." 

"Ah!"  I  said.  My  agitation  was  indeed  so 
great  that,  before  giving  reins  to  it,  I  bade  La 
Trape  withdraw.  I  could  scarcely  believe  that, 
acquainted  as  the  King  was  with  the  plots  which 
the  Catholics  were  daily  aiming  at  his  life;  and 
possessing  such  powerful  enemies  among  the  great 
Protestants  as  Tremonelle  and  Bouillon— to  say 
nothing  of  Mademoiselle  d'Entragues' half-brother, 
the  Count  of  Auvergne,  who  hated  him — I  say,  I 
could  hardly  believe  that  with  full  knowledge  of 
these  facts  his  Majesty  had  been  so  fool-hardy  as 
to  travel  without  guards  to  Fontainebleau.  And 
yet  I  now  felt  a  certainty  that  this  was  the  case. 
The  presence  of  La  Varenne,  the  confidant  of  his 
intrigues,  while  it  informed  me  of  the  cause  of  the 
journey,  convinced  me  that  his  Majesty  had  given 
way  to  the  sole  weakness  of  his  nature,  and  was 
bent  on  one  of  those  adventures  of  gallantry 
which  had  been  more  becoming  in  the  Prince  of 
Beam  than  in  the  King  of  France.  Nor  was  I 
at  a  loss  to  guess  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  It 
had  been  lately  whispered  in  the  Court  that  the 
King  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  mistress's  youn- 
ger sister,  Susette  d'Entragues;  whose  home  at 
Malesherbes  lay  but  three  leagues  from  Fontaine- 
bleau, on  the  edge  of  the  forest.  This  fact  placed 
the  King's  imprudence  in  a  stronger  light;  for 
he  had  scarcely  in  France  a  more  dangerous 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       243 

enemy  than  her  brother,  Auvergne,  nor  had  the 
immense  sums  which  he  had  settled  on  the  elder 
sister  satisfied  the  avarice  or  conciliated  the  hos- 
tility of  her  father. 

I  saw  that  Father  Cotton  had  known  more 
than  I  had.  But  his  motive  in  speaking  I  found 
less  easy  to  divine.  It  might  be  a  wish  to  baulk 
this  new  passion  through  my  interference,  while 
he  exposed  me  to  the  risk  of  his  Majesty's  anger. 
Or  it  might  be  the  single  desire  to  avert  danger 
from  the  King's  person.  At  any  rate,  constant  to 
my  rule  of  preferring,  come  what  might,  my  mas- 
ter's interest  to  his  favour,  I  sent  for  Maignan, 
my  equerry,  and  bade  him  have  an  equipage 
ready  at  dawn. 

At  that  hour,  next  morning,  attended  only  by 
La  Trape,  with  a  groom,  a  page,  and  four  Swiss, 
I  started,  giving  out  that  I  was  bound  for  Sully 
to  inspect  that  demesne,  which  had  formerly  been 
the  property  of  my  family,  and  of  which  the  re- 
fusal had  just  been  offered  to  me.  Under  cover  of 
this  destination,  I  was  enabled  to  reach  La  Ferte 
Alais  unsuspected.  There,  pretending  that  the  mo- 
tion of  the  coach  fatigued  me,  I  mounted  the  led 
horse,  without  which  I  never  travelled,  and  bid- 
ding La  Trape  accompany  me,  I  gave  orders  to 
the  others  to  follow  at  their  leisure  to  Pithiviers, 
where  I  proposed  to  stay  the  night. 

La  Ferte  Alais,  on  the  borders  of  the  forest,  is 
some  five  leagues  westward  of  Fontainebleau  and 


244  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

as  far  north  of  Malesherbes,  with  which  it  is  con- 
nected by  a  high-road.  Having  disclosed  my  in- 
tentions to  La  Trape,  I  left  this  road  and  struck 
into  a  woodland  path  which  promised  to  con- 
duct us  in  the  right  direction.  But  the  luxuriance 
of  the  undergrowth,  and  the  huge  chaos  of  grey 
rocks  which  cumber  that  part  of  the  forest,  made 
it  difficult  to  keep  for  any  time  in  a  straight  line. 
After  being  an  hour  in  the  saddle  we  concluded 
that  we  had  lost  our  way,  and  were  confirmed  in 
this,  on  reaching  a  clearing.  In  place  of  the 
chateau  we  saw  before  us  a  small  house,  which 
La  Trape  presently  recognized  as  an  inn,  situate 
about  a  league  and  a  half  on  the  Fontainebleau 
side  of  Malesherbes. 

We  had  still  ample  time  to  reach  the  Chateau 
by  nightfall,  but  before  proceeding  farther  it  was 
necessary  that  our  horses  should  have  rest.  Dis- 
mounting I  bade  La  Trape  see  the  sorrel  well 
baited.  The  inn  was  a  poor  place;  but  having  no 
choice,  I  entered  it  and  found  myself  in  a  large 
room  better  furnished  with  company  than  ac- 
commodation. Three  men,  who  appeared  to  be 
of  those  reckless  blades  who  are  commonly  to  be 
found  in  the  inns  on  the  outskirts  of  Paris,  and 
who  come  not  unfrequently  to  their  ends  at  Mont- 
faucon,  were  tippling  and  playing  cards  at  a  table 
near  the  door.  They  looked  up  on  my  entrance, 
but  refrained  from  saluting  me,  which,  as  I  was 
plainly  dressed,  and  much  travel-stained,  was  ex- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      245 

cusable.  By  the  fire,  partaking  of  a  coarse  meal, 
sat  a  fourth  man  of  so  singular  an  appearance 
that  I  must  needs  describe  him.  He  was  of  great 
height  and  extreme  leanness,  resembling  a  may- 
pole rather  than  a  man.  His  face  matched  his 
form,  for  it  was  long  and  meagre,  and  terminated 
in  a  small  peaked  beard,  which  like  his  hair  and 
moustachios  was  as  white  as  snow.  With  all  this 
his  eyes  glowed  with  something  of  the  fire  of 
youth,  and  his  brown  complexion  and  sinewy 
hands  seemed  to  indicate  robust  health.  He  wore 
garments  which  had  once  been  fashionable,  but 
now  bore  marks  of  much  patching,  and  I  re- 
marked that  the  point  of  his  sword,  which,  as  he 
sat,  trailed  on  the  stones  behind  him,  had  worn 
its  way  through  the  scabbard.  Notwithstanding 
these  signs  of  poverty  he  saluted  me  with  the  ease 
of  a  gentleman,  and  bade  me  with  some  stiffness 
share  his  table  and  the  fire.  Accordingly  I  drew 
up,  and  called  for  a  bottle  of  the  best  wine,  be- 
ing minded  to  divert  myself  with  him. 

I  was  little  prepared,  however,  for  the  turn  his 
conversation  took,  or  the  tirade  into  which  he 
presently  broke ;  the  object  of  which  proved  to  be 
no  other  than  myself!  I  do  not  know  that  I 
have  ever  cut  so  whimsical  a  figure  as  while  I  sat 
and  heard  my  name  loaded  with  reproaches ;  but 
being  certain  that  he  did  not  know  me  I  waited 
patiently,  and  soon  learned  both  who  he  was,  and 
the  grievance  which  he  was  about  to  lay  before 


246  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  King.  His  name  was  BoisrosS.  He  had  been 
the  leader  in  that  gallant  capture  of  Fecamp, 
which  took  place  while  I  represented  his  Majesty 
in  Normandy,  and  his  grievance  was,  that  in  the 
face  of  many  promises  he  had  been  deprived  of 
the  government  of  the  place.  "  He  leads  the  King 
by  the  ear!"  he  cried  loudly,  and  in  an  accent 
which  marked  him  for  a  Gascon.  "That  villain 
of  a  De  Rosny !  But  I  will  shew  him  up !  I  will 
trounce  him  !  If  the  King  will  not,  I  will !"  And 
with  that  he  drew  the  hilt  of  his  long  rapier  to 
the  front  with  a  gesture  so  truculent  that  the 
three  bullies  who  had  stopped  to  laugh  resumed 
their  game  in  haste. 

Notwithstanding  his  sentiments,  I  was  pleased 
to  meet  with  a  man  of  so  singular  a  temper, 
whom  I  also  knew  to  be  courageous :  and  I  was 
willing  to  amuse  myself  further.  "But,"  I  said 
modestly,  "I  have  had  some  affairs  with  M.  de 
Rosny,  and  I  have  never  found  him  cheat  me." 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself!"  he  cried,  slapping 
the  table.  "  He  is  a  rascal !  There  is  no  one  he 
will  not  cheat!" 

"Yet,"  I  ventured  to  reply,  "I  have  heard  that 
in  many  respects  he  is  not  a  bad  minister." 

"He  is  a  villain!"  he  repeated  so  loudly  as  to 
drown  what  I  would  have  added.  "A  villain, 
sir,  a  villain!  Do  not  tell  me  otherwise!  But 
rest  assured !  I  will  make  the  King  see  him  in 
his  true  colours !  Rest  content,  sir !  I  will  trounce 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      247 

him !  He  has  to  do  with  Armand  de  Bois- 
rose!" 

Seeing  that  he  was  not  open  to  argument— for 
being  opposed  he  grew  warm— I  asked  him  by 
what  channel  he  intended  to  approach  the  King, 
and  learned  that  here  he  felt  a  difficulty,  since  he 
had  neither  a  Mend  at  Court,  nor  money  to  buy 
one.  Certain  that  the  narrative  of  our  rencontre 
and  its  sequel  would  amuse  his  Majesty,  who 
loved  a  jest,  I  advised  Boisrose  to  go  boldly  to 
the  King,  and  speak  to  him ;  which,  thanking  me 
as  profusely  as  he  had  before  reproached  me,  he 
avowed  he  would  do.  With  that  I  rose. 

At  the  last  moment,  and  as  I  was  parting  from 
him,  it  occurred  to  me  to  try  upon  him  the  shib- 
boleth which  in  Father  Cotton's  mouth  had  so 
mystified  me.  "This  fire  burns  brightly,"  I  said, 
kicking  the  logs  together  with  my  riding-boot. 
"It  must  be  of  boxwood." 

"Of  what,  sir?"  he  asked  politely. 

"Of  boxwood  !  Why  not?"  I  replied  in  a  louder 
tone. 

"  My  certes ! "  he  answrered,  staring  at  me.  "  They 
do  not  burn  boxwood  in  this  country.  Those  are 
larch  trimmings,  as  all  the  world  knows,  neither 
more  nor  less!" 

While  he  wondered  at  my  ignorance,  I  was 
pleased  to  discover  his;  and  so  far  I  had  lost 
my  pains.  But  it  did  not  escape  me  that  the 
three  gamesters  had  ceased  to  play,  and  were  lis- 


248  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

tening  to  our  conversation.  Moreover  as  I  moved 
to  the  door  they  followed  me  with  their  eyes: 
and  when  I  turned  after  riding  a  hundred  yards 
I  found  that  they  had  come  to  the  door  and  were 
gaping  after  us. 

This  did  not  hinder  me  remarking  that  a  hound 
which  had  been  lying  before  the  fire  had  come 
forth  with  us,  and  was  now  running  in  front,  now 
gambolling  about  the  horses'  legs.  I  supposed 
that  when  it  had  accompanied  us  a  certain  way 
it  would  return;  but  it  persisted,  and  presently 
where  the  road  forked  I  had  occasion  to  notice 
its  movements;  for  choosing  one  of  the  paths  it 
stood  in  the  mouth  of  it,  wagging  its  tail  and 
inviting  us  to  take  that  road :  and  this  it  did 
so  pertinaciously  and  cheerfully  that  though  the 
directions  we  had  received  at  the  inn  would  have 
led  us  to  prefer  the  other  track,  we  followed  the 
dog  as  the  more  trustworthy  guide. 

We  had  gone  from  this  point  about  four  hun- 
dred paces  forward,  when  La  Trape  showed  me 
that  the  path  was  growing  narrow,  and  betrayed 
few  signs  of  being  used.  It  seemed  certain — though 
the  dog  still  ran  confidently  ahead — that  we  were 
again  astray ;  and  I  was  about  to  draw  rein  and 
return  wrhen  I  saw  that  the  undergrowth  on  the 
right  of  the  path  had  assumed  the  character  of  a 
thick  hedge  of  box — a  shrub  common  only  in  a 
few  parts  of  the  forest.  Though  less  prone  than 
most  men  to  put  faith  in  omens,  I  accepted  this ; 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      249 

and,  notwithstanding  that  it  wanted  but  an  hour 
of  sunset,  I  rode  on,  remarking  that  with  each 
turn  in  the  woodland  path,  the  scrub  on  my  left 
also  gave  place  more  and  more  to  the  sturdy  tree 
which  had  been  in  my  mind  all  day.  Finally,  we 
found  ourselves  passing  through  an  alley  of  box— 
which  no  long  time  before  had  been  clipped  and 
dressed.  A  final  turn  brought  us  into  a  cul  de 
sac;  and  there  we  were,  in  a  kind  of  small  arbour 
carpeted  with  turf,  and  so  perfectly  hedged  in  as 
to  afford  no  exit  save  by  the  entrance.  Here  the 
dog  placidly  stood  and  wagged  its  tail,  looking 
up  at  us. 

I  must  confess  that  this  termination  of  the 
adventure  seemed  so  surprising,  and  the  evening 
light  shining  on  the  level  walls  of  green  about  us 
was  so  full  of  a  solemn  quiet,  that  I  was  not 
surprised  to  hear  La  Trape  mutter  a  prayer.  For 
my  part,  assured  that  something  more  than 
chance  had  brought  me  hither,  I  dismounted  and 
spoke  encouragement  to  the  hound.  But  it  only 
leapt  upon  me.  Then  I  walked  round  the  tiny  en- 
closure, and  presently  I  discovered,  close  to  the 
hedge,  three  small  patches,  where  the  grass  was 
slightly  beaten  or  trodden  down.  A  second  glance 
told  me  more ;  I  saw  that  at  these  places  the  hedge 
about  three  feet  from  the  ground  was  hacked 
and  hollowed.  I  stooped,  until  my  eyes  were  level 
with  the  hole  thus  made,  and  discovered  that  I 
was  looking  through  a  funnel  skilfully  cut  in 


250  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  wall  of  box.  At  my  end  the  opening  was 
rather  larger  than  a  man's  face;  at  the  other 
end  not  as  large  as  the  palm  of  the  hand.  The 
funnel  rose  gradually,  so  that  I  took  the  farther 
extremity  of  it  to  be  about  seven  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  here  it  disclosed  a  feather  dangling 
on  a  spray.  From  the  light  falling  strongly  on 
this,  I  judged  it  to  be  not  in  the  hedge,  but  a 
pace  or  two  from  it  on  the  hither  side  of  another 
fence  of  box.  On  examining  the  remaining  loop- 
holes, I  discerned  that  they  bore  upon  the  same 
feather. 

My  own  mind  was  at  once  made  up,  but  I  bade 
my  valet  go  through  the  same  investigation,  and 
then  asked  him  whether  he  had  ever  seen  an  am- 
bush of  this  kind  laid  for  game.  He  replied  that 
the  shot  would  pass  over  the  tallest  stag,  or 
aught  but  a  man  on  horseback;  and  fortified  by 
this,  I  mounted  without  saying  more,  and  we  re- 
traced our  steps.  The  hound,  which  had  doubtless 
the  habit,  as  some  dogs  have,  of  accompanying  the 
first  person  who  held  out  the  prospect  of  a  walk, 
presently  left  us,  and  without  further  adventure 
we  reached  the  Chateau  a  little  after  sunset. 

I  expected  to  be  received  by  the  King  with  some 
displeasure,  but  it  chanced  that  a  catarrh  had 
kept  him  within  doors  all  day;  and  unable  to 
hunt  or  visit  his  new  flame,  he  had  been  at  leis- 
ure, in  this  palace  without  a  court,  to  consider 
the  imprudence  he  was  committing.  He  received 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      251 

me  therefore  with  the  laugh  of  a  schoolboy  de- 
tected in  a  petty  fault,  and  as  I  hastened  to  re- 
late to  him  some  of  the  things  which  M.  de  Bois- 
rose  had  said  of  the  Baron  de  Rosny,  I  soon  had 
the  gratification  of  perceiving  that  my  presence 
was  not  taken  amiss.  His  Majesty  gave  orders 
that  bedding  should  be  furnished  for  my  pavilion, 
and  that  his  household  should  wait  on  me,  and 
himself  sent  me  from  his  table  a  couple  of  chickens 
and  a  fine  melon,  bidding  me  to  come  to  him 
when  I  had  supped. 

I  did  so,  and  found  him  alone  in  his  closet 
awaiting  me  with  impatience;  he  had  already 
divined  that  I  had  not  made  this  journey  merely 
to  reproach  him.  Before  informing  him,  however, 
of  my  suspicions,  I  craved  leave  to  ask  him  one 
or  two  questions,  and  in  particular  whether  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  to  Malesherbes 
daily. 

"Daily,"  he  admitted  with  a  grimace.  "What 
more,  Father  Confessor?" 

"By  what  road,  sire?" 

"I  have  hunted  mornings,  and  visited  Males- 
herbes at  midday.  I  have  returned  as  a  rule  by 
the  bridle-path,  which  passes  the  Rock  of  the 
Serpents." 

"Patience,  sire,  one  moment,"  I  said.  "Does 
that  path  run  anywhere  through  a  plantation  of 
box?" 

"It   does,"   he   answered,    without    hesitation. 


252  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"About  half  a  mile  on  this  side  of  the  rock,  it 
skirts  Queen  Catherine's  maze." 

Thereon  I  told  the  King  without  reserve  all 
that  had  happened.  He  listened  with  the  air  of 
seeming  carelessness  which  he  always  assumed 
when  plots  against  his  life  were  under  discussion ; 
but  at  the  end  he  embraced  me  again  with  tears 
in  his  eyes.  "France  is  beholden  to  you!"  he 
said.  "I  have  never  had,  nor  shall  have,  such 
another  servant  as  you,  Rosny !  The  three  ruf- 
fians at  the  inn,"  he  continued,  "are,  of  course, 
the  tools,  and  the  hound  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
accompanying  them  to  the  spot.  Yesterday,  I  re- 
member, I  walked  by  that  place  with  the  bridle  on 
my  arm." 

"By  a  special  providence,  sire,"  I  said  gravely. 

"It  is  true,"  he  answered,  crossing  himself,  a 
thing  I  had  never  yet  known  him  do  in  private. 
"But,  now,  who  is  the  craftsman  who  has  con- 
trived this  pretty  plot?  Tell  me  that,  Grand 
Master." 

On  this  point,  however,  though  I  had  my  sus- 
picions, I  begged  leave  to  be  excused  until  I  had 
slept  upon  it.  "Heaven  forbid,"  I  said,  "that  I 
should  expose  any  man  to  your  Majesty's  resent- 
ment without  cause.  The  wrath  of  kings  is  the 
forerunner  of  death." 

"I  have  not  heard,"  the  King  answered  dryly, 
"that  the  Duke  of  Bouillon  has  called  in  a  leech 

yet." 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      253 

Before  retiring,  I  learned  that  his  Majesty  had 
with  him  a  score  of  light  horse,  whom  La  Yarenne 
had  requisitioned  from  Melun;  and  that  some  of 
these  had  each  day  awaited  him  at  Malesherbes 
and  ridden  home  behind  him.  Further,  that 
Henry  had  been  in  the  habit  of  wearing,  when 
riding  back  in  the  evening,  a  purple  cloak  over  his 
hunting-suit,  a  fact  well  known,  I  felt  sure,  to 
the  assassins,  who,  unseen  and  in  perfect  safety, 
could  fire  at  the  exact  moment  when  the  cloak 
obscured  the  feather,  and  could  then  make  their 
escape,  secured  by  the  stout  wall  of  box  from 
immediate  pursuit. 

I  slept  ill,  and  was  aroused  early  by  La  Yarenne 
coming  to  my  bedside,  and  bidding  me  hasten  to 
the  King.  I  did  so,  and  found  him  already  in 
his  boots  and  walking  on  the  terrace  with  Coquet, 
his  Master  of  the  Household,  Yitry,  La  Yarenne, 
and  a  gentleman  unknown  to  me.  On  seeing  me 
he  dismissed  them,  and  while  I  was  still  a  great 
way  off,  called  out,  chiding  me  for  my  laziness : 
then  taking  me  by  the  hand  hi  the  most  obliging 
manner,  he  made  me  walk  up  and  down  with  him, 
while  he  told  me  what  further  thoughts  he  had  of 
this  affair;  and  hiding  nothing  from  me  even  as 
he  bade  me  speak  to  him  whatever  I  thought 
without  reserve,  he  required  to  know  whether  I 
suspected  that  the  Entragues  family  were  cogni- 
zant of  this. 

"I  cannot  say,  sire,"  I  answered  prudently. 


254  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"But  you  suspect?" 

"In  your  Majesty's  cause  I  suspect  all,"  I  re- 
plied. 

He  sighed,  and  seeing  that  my  eyes  wandered  to 
the  group  of  gentlemen  who  had  betaken  them- 
selves to  the  terrace  steps,  and  were  thence  watch- 
ing us,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  answer  for  them. 
"For  Vitry,  who  sleeps  at  my  feet  when  I  lie 
alone?  For  Coquet?" 

"For  three  of  them,  I  will,  sire,"  I  answered 
firmly.  "The  fourth  I  do  not  know." 

"He  is  Auvergne's  half-brother." 

"M.  Louis  d'Entragues?"  I  muttered.  "Lately 
returned,  I  think,  from  service  in  Savoy?  I  do 
not  know  him,  sire.  To-morrow  I  may  be  able 
to  answer  for  him." 

"And  to-day?    What  am  I  to  do  to-day?" 

I  begged  him  to  act  as  he  had  done  each  day 
since  his  arrival  at  Fontainebleau,  to  hunt  in  the 
morning,  to  take  his  midday  meal  at  Malesherbes, 
to  talk  to  all  as  if  he  had  no  suspicion :  only  on 
his  return  to  take  any  road  save  that  which 
passed  the  Rock  of  the  Serpents. 

The  King  turning  to  rejoin  the  others,  I  found 
that  their  attention  was  no  longer  directed  to  us, 
but  to  a  singular  figure  which  had  made  its  ap- 
pearance on  the  skirts  of  the  group,  and  had 
already  thrown  three  out  of  the  four  courtiers  into 
a  fit  of  laughter.  The  fourth,  M.  d'Entragues,  did 
not  seem  to  be  equally  diverted  with  the  stranger's 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      255 

appearance ;  nor  did  I  fail  to  notice,  being  at  the 
moment  quick  to  perceive  the  slightest  point  of 
his  conduct,  that  while  the  others  were  nudging 
one  another,  his  countenance,  darkened  by  an 
Italian  sun,  gloomed  on  the  new-comer  with  an 
aspect  of  menace.  On  his  side  M.  de  Boisrose — 
for  he  it  was,  the  grotesque  fashion  of  his  dress 
more  conspicuous  than  ever — stood  eyeing  the 
group  with  a  mixture  of  awkwardness  and  resent- 
ment ;  until  made  aware  of  his  Majesty's  approach 
and  of  my  presence  in  intimate  converse  with  the 
King  he  stepped  joyfully  forward,  a  look  of  relief 
displacing  all  others  on  his  countenance.  "Ha! 
well  met ! "  quoth  the  King  in  my  ear.  "It  is  your 
friend  of  yesterday.  Now  we  shall  have  sport. 
And  'twill  cheer  us.  We  need  it."  And  he  pinched 
my  arm. 

As  the  old  soldier  approached  with  many  low 
bows,  the  King  spoke  to  him  graciously,  and 
bade  him  say  what  he  sought.  It  happened  then 
as  I  had  expected.  Boisrose,  after  telling  the  King 
his  name,  turned  to  me  and  humbly  begged  that 
I  would  explain  his  complaint ;  which  I  consented 
to  do,  and  did  as  follows:  "This,  sire,"  I  said 
gravely,  "is  an  old  and  brave  soldier;  who  for- 
merly served  your  Majesty  to  good  purpose  in 
Normandy,  but  has  been  cheated  out  of  the  rec- 
ompense which  he  there  earned  by  the  trickery 
and  chicanery  of  one  of  your  Majesty's  counsel- 
lors, the  Baron  de  Rosny." 


256  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

I  could  not  continue,  for  the  courtiers,  on  hear- 
ing this  from  my  mouth,  and  on  discovering  that 
the  stranger's  odd  appearance  was  but  a  prelude 
to  the  real  diversion,  could  not  restrain  their 
laughter.  The  King,  concealing  his  own  amuse, 
ment,  turned  to  them  with  an  angry  air  and  bade 
them  be  silent;  and  the  Gascon,  encouraged  by 
this  and  by  the  bold  manner  in  which  I  had 
stated  his  grievance,  scowled  at  them  famously. 
"He  alleges,  sire,"  I  continued,  with  the  same 
gravity,  "that  the  Baron  de  Eosny,  after  promis- 
ing him  the  government  of  Fecamp,  bestowed  it 
on  another,  being  bribed  to  do  so,  and  has  been 
guilty  of  many  base  acts  which  make  him  un- 
worthy of  your  Majesty's  confidence.  That,  I 
think,  is  your  complaint,  M.  de  Boisrose?"  I  con- 
cluded, turning  to  the  soldier;  whom  my  deep 
seriousness  so  misled  that  he  took  up  the  story, 
and  pouring  out  his  wrongs  did  not  fail  to 
threaten  to  trounce  me,  or  to  add  with  much 
fervour  that  I  was  a  villain ! 

He  might  have  said  more,  but  the  courtiers, 
perceiving  that  the  King  broke  at  last  into  a 
smile,  lost  all  control  over  themselves,  and  giv- 
ing vent  to  loud  peals  of  laughter,  clasped  one 
another  by  the  shoulders  and  reeled  to  and  fro  in 
an  ecstasy  of  enjoyment.  The  King  gave  way 
also  and  laughed  heartily,  clapping  me  again  and 
again  on  the  back,  so  that  in  fine  there  were  only 
two  serious  faces  to  be  seen,  that  of  the  poor 


Boisrose,  who  took  all  for  lunatics,  and  my  own. 
For  my  part  I  began  to  think  that  perhaps  the 
jest  had  been  carried  far  enough. 

My  master  presently  saw  this,  and  collecting 
himself,  turned  to  the  amazed  Gascon.  "Your 
complaint  is  one,"  he  said,  "which  should  not 
be  lightly  made.  Do  you  know  the  Baron  de 
Kosny?" 

Boisrose,  more  and  more  out  of  countenance, 
said  he  did  not. 

"Then,"  said  the  King,  "I  will  give  you  an 
opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  him. 
I  shall  refer  your  complaint  to  him,  and  he  will 
decide  upon  it.  More ! "  he  continued,  raising  his 
hand  for  silence  as  Boisrose,  starting  forward, 
would  have  appealed  to  him,  "I  will  introduce 
you  to  him  now.  This  is  the  Baron  de  Kosny." 

The  old  soldier  glared  at  me  for  a  moment  with 
starting  eye-balls,  and  a  dreadful  despair  seemed 
to  settle  on  his  face.  He  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  before  the  King.  "Then,  sire,"  said  he  in  a 
heartrending  voice,  "am  I  ruined?  My  six  chil- 
dren must  starve,  and  my  young  wife  die  by  the 
roadside!" 

"That,"  answered  the  King,  gravely,  "must  be 
for  the  Baron  de  Kosny  to  decide.  I  leave  you  to 
your  audience." 

He  made  a  sign  to  the  others,  and,  followed  by 
them,  walked  slowly  along  the  terrace,  the  while 
Boisrose,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet,  stood  looking 
17 


258  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

after  him  like  one  demented,  muttering  in  a  voice 
that  went  to  my  heart  that  it  was  a  cruel  jest, 
and  that  he  had  bled  for  the  King,  and  the  King 
made  sport  of  him. 

Presently  I  touched  him  on  the  arm.  "Come, 
have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me,  M.  de  Bois- 
rose?"  I  asked  quietly.  "You  are  a  brave  soldier 
and  have  done  France  service:  why  then  need 
you  fear?  The  Baron  de  Eosny  is  one  man,  the 
King's  minister  is  another.  It  is  the  latter  who 
speaks  to  you  now.  The  office  of  Lieutenant 
Governor  of  Angouleme  is  vacant.  It  is  worth 
twelve  thousand  livres  by  the  year.  I  appoint 
you  to  it." 

He  murmured  with  a  white  face  that  I  mocked 
him  and  that  he  was  going  mad;  so  that  it  was 
long  before  I  could  persuade  him  that  I  was  in 
earnest.  When  I  at  last  succeeded,  his  gratitude 
knew  no  bounds,  and  he  thanked  me  again  and 
again  with  the  tears  running  down  his  face. 
"What  I  have  done  for  you,"  I  said  modestly,  "is 
the  reward  of  your  bravery.  I  ask  only  that  you 
will  not  another  time  think  that  they  who  rule 
kingdoms  are  as  those  gay  popinjays  yonder. 
Whom  the  King,  believe  me,  holds  at  their  due 
value." 

In  a  transport  of  delight  he  reiterated  his  offers 
of  service,  and  feeling  sure  that  I  had  gained  him 
completely  I  asked  him  on  a  sudden  where  he  had 
seen  Louis  d'Entragues  before.  In  two  words  the 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      259 

truth  came  out.  He  had  seen  him  once  only,  on 
the  previous  day  at  the  forest  inn;  the  courtier 
had  halted  at  the  door  and  spoken  with  the  three 
bullies,  whom  I  had  remarked  there.  I  was  not 
surprised,  nay  I  had  expected  this,  D'Entragues' 
near  kinship  to  the  Count  of  Auvergne  and  the 
mingled  feelings  with  which  I  knew  that  the  family 
regarded  Henry  preparing  me  to  imagine  treach- 
ery. Moreover,  the  nature  of  the  ambush  was 
proof  that  its  author  resided  in  the  neighbour- 
hood and  was  intimately  acquainted  with  the  for- 
est paths.  I  should  have  carried  this  informa- 
tion at  once  to  my  master ;  but  I  learned  that  he 
had  already  started,  and  thus  baffled  and  believ- 
ing that  his  affection  for  Mademoiselle  d'Entra- 
gues,  if  not  for  her  sister,  would  lead  him  to  act 
with  undue  leniency,  I  conceived  a  plan  of  my  own. 
Two  hours  after  noon,  therefore,  I  set  out,  as  if 
for  a  ride,  attended  by  La  Trape  only;  but  at 
some  distance  from  the  palace  we  were  joined  by 
Boisrose,  whom  I  had  bidden  to  be  at  that  point 
well  armed  and  mounted.  Thus  reinforced— for 
the  Gascon  was  still  strong,  and  in  courage  a  very 
Crillon,  I  proceeded  to  Malesherbes  by  a  circuitous 
route  which  brought  me  within  sight  of  the  gates 
about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  I  then  halted 
under  cover  of  a  little  wood  of  chestnuts,  and 
waited  until  I  saw  the  King,  attended  by  several 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  followed  by  eight  troop- 
ers, issue  from  the  chateau.  His  Majesty  was 


260  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

walking,  his  horse  being  led  behind  him;  and 
seeing  this  I  rode  out  and  approached  the  party 
as  if  I  had  that  moment  arrived  to  meet  the 
King. 

It  would  very  ill  become  me  to  make  idle  re- 
flections on  the  hollowness  of  Court  life :  withal, 
seldom  have  I  known  it  better  exemplified  than  in 
the  scene  then  displayed  before  me.  The  sun  was 
low,  but  its  warm  beams  falling  aslant  on  the  gay 
group  at  the  gates  and  on  the  flowered  terraces 
and  grey  walls  behind  them  seemed  to  present  a 
picture  at  once  peaceful  and  joyous.  Yet  I  knew 
that  treachery  and  death  were  lurking  in  the 
midst— even  as  between  the  parterres  and  the  walls 
lay  the  dark  sluggish  moat;  and  it  was  only  by 
an  effort  that,  as  I  rode  up,  I  could  make  answer 
to  the  thousand  obliging  things  with  which  I  was 
greeted  and  of  which  not  the  least  polite  were 
said  by  M.  d'Entragues  and  his  son.  I  took 
pains  to  observe  Mademoiselle  Susette,  a  beauti- 
ful girl  still  in  her  teens,  but  noways  comparable 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  in  expression  and  vivacity 
to  her  famous  sister.  She  was  walking  beside  the 
King,  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  and  her  face 
flushed  with  shy  excitement.  I  came,  with  little 
thought,  to  the  conclusion  that  she,  at  least, 
knew  nothing  of  what  was  intended  by  her  family ; 
who,  having  made  the  one  sister  the  means  of 
gratifying  their  avarice,  were  now  baiting  the 
trap  of  their  vengeance  with  the  other.  Having 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      261 

obtained  what  they  needed,  they  were  ashamed  of 
the  means  by  which  they  had  obtained  it :  and 
would  fain  avenge  their  honour,  while  holding  to 
that  they  had  got  by  the  sale  of  it. 

Henry  parted  from  the  maid  at  length,  and 
mounted  his  horse  amid  a  ripple  of  laughter  and 
compliments,  D'Entragues  holding  the  stirrup, 
and  his  son  the  cloak.  I  observed  that  the  latter, 
as  I  had  expected,  was  prepared  to  accompany  us, 
which  rendered  my  plan  more  feasible.  Our  road 
lay  for  a  league  in  the  direction  of  the  Rock  of  the 
Serpents,  the  track  which  passed  the  latter — and 
was  a  trifle  shorter— presently  diverging  from  it. 
For  some  distance  we  rode  along  in  easy  talk,  but 
on  approaching  the  point  of  separation,  the  King 
looked  at  me  with  a  whimsical  air,  as  though  he 
would  lay  on  me  the  burden  of  finding  an  excuse 
for  avoiding  the  shorter  way.  I  had  foreseen  this 
and  looked  round  to  ascertain  the  positions  of 
our  company.  I  found  that  La  Varenne  and 
D'Entragues  were  close  behind  us,  while  the  troop- 
ers with  La  Trape  and  Boisrose  were  a  hundred 
paces  farther  to  the  rear,  and  Vitry  and  Coquet 
had  dropped  out  of  sight.  This  being  so,  I  sud- 
denly reined  in  my  horse  so  as  to  back  it  into 
that  of  D'Entragues,  and  then  wheeled  round  on 
the  latter,  taking  care  to  be  between  him  and  the 
King.  "M.  Louis  d'Entragues,"  I  said,  dropping 
the  mask  and  addressing  him  in  a  low  voice  but 
with  the  scorn  which  I  felt  and  which  he  deserved. 


262  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Your  plot  is  known!  If  you  would  save  your 
life  confess  to  his  Majesty  here  and  now  all  you 
know,  and  throw  yourself  on  his  mercy!" 

I  confess  that  I  had  failed  to  take  into  account 
the  pitch  to  which  his  nerves  would  be  strung  at 
such  a  time,  and  had  expected  to  produce  a 
greater  effect  than  followed  my  words.  His  hand 
went  indeed  to  his  breast,  but  it  was  hard  to  say 
which  seemed  the  more  astounded,  La  Varenne  or 
he.  And  the  manner  in  which  he  flung  back  my 
accusation,  lacked  neither  vigour  nor  the  sem- 
blance of  innocence.  While  Henry  stood  puzzled, 
and  not  a  little  put  out,  La  Varenne  was  appalled. 
I  saw  this,  that  I  had  gone  too  far,  or  not  far 
enough,  and  at  once  calling  up  unto  my  face  and 
form  all  the  sternness  in  my  power  I  bade  the 
traitor  remain  where  he  was.  Then  turning  to 
his  Majesty  I  craved  leave  to  speak  to  him  apart. 

He  hesitated,  looking  from  me  to  D'Entragues 
with  an  air  of  displeasure  which  embraced  us 
both,  but  in  the  end  without  permitting  M.  Louis 
to  speak  he  complied,  and  going  aside  with  me 
bade  me  with  coldness  speak  out.  As  soon  as  I 
had  repeated  to  him  Boisrose's  words,  his  face 
underwent  a  change — for  he  too  had  remarked  the 
discomfiture  which  the  latter's  appearance  had 
caused  D'Entragues  in  the  morning.  "The  vil- 
lain!" he  said.  "I  do  not  now  think  you  pre- 
cipitate !  Arrest  him,  but  do  him  no  harm ! " 

"If  he  resist,  sire?"  I  asked. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       263 

"He  will  not,"  the  King  answered.  "  And  in  no 
case  harm  him!  You  understand  me?" 

I  bowed,  having  my  own  thoughts  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  the  King  without  looking  again  at 
D'Entragues  rode  quickly  away.  M.  Louis  tried 
to  follow  and  cried  after  him,  but  I  thrust  my 
horse  in  the  way,  and  bade  him  consider  himself 
a  prisoner.  At  the  same  time  I  requested  La 
Varenne,  with  Vitry  and  Coquet,  who  had  come 
up  and  were  looking  on  like  men  thunderstruck, 
to  take  four  of  the  guards  and  follow  the  King. 

"Then,  sir,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  me?" 
D'Entragues  asked.  The  defiant  air  with  which  he 
looked  from  me  to  the  men  who  remained  barely 
disguised  his  apprehensions. 

"That  depends,  M.  Louis,"  I  replied,  recurring 
to  my  usual  tone  of  politeness,  "on  your  an- 
swers to  three  questions." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Ask  them,"  he 
said. 

"Do  you  deny  that  you  have  laid  an  ambush 
for  the  King  in  the  road  which  passes  the  Rock  of 
the  Serpents?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Or  that  you  were  yesterday  at  an  inn  near 
here  in  converse  with  three  men?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Do  you  deny  that  there  is  such  an  ambush 
laid?" 

"At  least  I  know  naught  of  it!"  he  repeated 


264  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

with  scorn.  "'Tis  an  old  wife's  story.  I  would 
stake  my  life  on  it." 

"Enough,"  I  answered  slowly.  "You  have  said 
you  would  stake  your  life  on  it.  You  shall.  The 
evening  grows  cold,  and,  as  you  are  my  prisoner, 
I  must  have  a  care  of  you.  Kindly  put  on  this 
cloak,  and  precede  me,  M.  d'Entragues.  We  return 
to  Fontainebleau  by  the  Rock  of  the  Serpents." 

His  eyes  met  mine;  he  read  my  thoughts,  and 
for  a  second  held  his  breath.  A  cold  shadow  fell 
upon  his  sallow  face,  and  then  for  an  instant  I 
thought  that  he  would  resist.  But  the  stern  coun- 
tenances of  La  Trape  and  Boisrose,  who  had 
ridden  up  to  his  rein  and  stood  awaiting  his 
answer  with  their  swords  drawn,  determined  him. 
With  a  forced  and  mirthless  laugh  he  took  the 
cloak.  "It  is  new,  I  hope,"  he  said,  as  he  threw 
it  over  his  shoulders. 

It  was  not,  and  I  apologized,  adding,  however, 
that  no  one  but  the  King  had  worn  it.  On  this 
he  settled  it  about  him;  and  having  heard  me 
strictly  charge  the  two  guards,  who  followed  with 
their  arquebuses  ready,  to  fire  on  him  if  he  tried 
to  escape,  he  turned  his  horse's  head  into  the 
path  and  rode  slowly  along  it,  while  we,  in  double 
file,  followed  a  few  paces  behind  him. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  such  light  as  remained  fell 
cold  between  the  trees.  The  green  of  the  sward 
had  that  pale  look  it  puts  on  with  the  last  rays, 
or  with  the  dawning.  The  crackling  of  a  stick 


THE  DIAKY  OF  A  STATESMAN       265 

under  a  horse's  hoof,  or  the  ring  of  a  spur  against 
a  scabbard,  were  the  only  sounds  which  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  wood  as  we  proceeded.  We  had 
gone  some  way  when  M.  Louis  halted,  and,  turn- 
ing hi  his  saddle,  called  to  me.  "M.  de  Rosny," 
he  said — the  light  had  so  far  failed  that  I  could 
scarcely  see  his  face,  "I  have  a  meeting  with  the 
Vicomte  de  Matigny  on  Saturday  about  a  little 
matter  of  a  lady's  glove.  Should  anything  pre- 
vent my  appearance " 

"I  will  see  that  a  proper  explanation  is  given," 
I  answered. 

"Or,  if  M.  d'Entragues  will  permit  me,"  ex- 
claimed the  Gascon,  who  was  riding  by  my  side, 
"  I,  M.  de  Boisrose  of  St.  Palais,  will  appear  in  his 
place  and  make  the  Viscount  de  Caylus  swallow 
the  glove." 

"Sir,"  said  M.  Louis,  with  politeness,  and  in  a 
steady  tone,  "you  are  a  gentleman.  I  am  obliged 
to  you." 

He  waved  his  hand  to  me  with  a  gesture  which 
I  long  remembered,  and,  giving  his  horse  the  rein, 
he  went  forward  along  the  path  at  a  brisk  walk. 
We  followed,  and  I  had  just  remarked  that  a  plant 
of  box  was  beginning  here  and  there  to  take  the 
place  of  the  usual  undergrowth  when  a  sheet  of 
flame  leapt  out  through  the  dusk  to  meet  us,  and 
our  horses  reared  wildly.  For  an  instant  we  were 
in  confusion ;  then  I  saw  that  our  leader,  M.  Louis, 
had  fallen  headlong  from  his  saddle,  and  lay  on 


266  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  sward  without  word  or  cry.  My  men  would 
have  sprung  forward  before  the  noise  of  the  report 
had  died  away,  and,  having  good  horses,  might 
possibly  have  overtaken  one  of  the  assassins ;  but 
I  restrained  them.  Enough  had  been  done.  When 
La  Trape  dismounted  and  raised  the  fallen  man 
the  latter  was  dead,  his  breast  riddled  by  a  dozen 
slugs. 

Such  were  the  circumstances,  now  for  the  first 
time  made  public,  which  attended  the  discovery  of 
this,  the  least  known,  yet  one  of  the  most  danger- 
ous of  the  many  plots  which  were  directed  against 
the  life  of  my  master.  The  course  which  I  adopted 
may  be  blamed  by  some,  but  it  is  enough  for  me 
that,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  it  is  approved  by 
my  conscience  and  by  the  course  of  events.  For 
it  was  ever  the  misfortune  of  that  great  king  to 
treat  those  with  leniency  whom  no  indulgence 
could  win;  and  I  bear  with  me  to  this  day  the 
bitter  assurance  that,  had  the  fate  which  overtook 
Louis  d'Entragues  in  the  wood  between  Males- 
herbes  and  Fontainebleau  embraced  the  whole  of 
that  family,  the  blow  which,  ten  years  later,  went 
to  the  heart  of  France  would  not  have  been 

struck. 

*  *  #  *  # 

The  slight  indisposition  from  which  the  Queen 
suffered  in  the  spring  of  1602,  and  which  was 
occasioned  by  a  cold  caught  during  her  lying-in, 
by  diverting  the  King's  attention  from  state  mat- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       267 

ters,  had  the  effect  of  doubling  the  burden  cast  on 
me.  Though  the  main  threads  of  M.  de  Biron's 
conspiracy  were  in  our  hands  as  early  as  the 
month  of  November  of  the  preceding  year,  and 
steps  had  been  taken  to  sound  the  chief  associates 
by  summoning  them  to  court,  an  interval  neces- 
sarily foUowed  during  which  we  had  all  to  fear; 
and  this  not  only  from  the  despair  of  the  guilty, 
but  from  the  timidity  of  the  innocent,  who  in  a 
court  filled  with  cabals  and  rumours  of  intrigues 
might  see  no  way  to  clear  themselves.  Even  the 
shows  and  interludes  which  followed  the  Dauphin's 
birth,  and  made  that  Christmas  remarkable, 
served  only  to  amuse  the  idle ;  they  could  not  dis- 
perse the  cloud  which  hung  over  the  Louvre  nor 
divert  those  who  on  the  one  side  or  the  other  had 
aught  to  fear. 

In  connection  with  this  period  of  suspense  I  re- 
call an  episode  worthy,  I  think,  by  reason  of  its 
oddity,  to  be  set  down  here;  where  it  may  serve 
for  a  preface  to  those  more  serious  events  attend- 
ing the  trial  and  execution  of  M.  de  Biron,  which 
I  shall  have  to  relate. 

I  had  occasion,  about  the  end  of  the  month  of 
January,  to  see  M.  du  Hallot.  The  weather  was 
cold,  and  partly  for  that  reason,  partly  out  of  a 
desire  to  keep  my  visit,  which  had  to  do  with  the 
Biron  disclosures,  from  the  general  eye,  I  chose  to 
go  on  foot.  For  the  same  reason  I  took  with  me 
only  two  servants  and  a  confidential  page,  the  son 


268  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

of  my  friend  Arnaud.  M.  du  Hallot,  who  lived  at 
this  time  in  a  house  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain, 
not  far  from  the  College  of  France,  detained  me 
long,  and  when  I  rose  to  leave  insisted  that  I 
should  take  his  coach,  as  snow  had  begun  to  fall, 
and  lay  an  inch  deep  in  the  streets.  At  first  I  was 
unwilling  to  do  this,  but  reflecting  that  such  small 
services  are  highly  valued  by  those  who  render 
them,  and  attach  men  more  surely  than  the  great- 
est bribes,  I  yielded,  and,  taking  my  place  with 
some  becoming  expressions,  bade  young  Arnaud 
find  his  way  home  on  foot. 

The  coach  had  nearly  reached  the  south  end  of 
the  Pont  au  Change,  when  a  number  of  youths 
ran  past  me,  pelting  one  another  with  snowballs, 
and  shouting  so  lustily  that  I  was  at  a  loss  which 
to  admire  more,  the  silence  of  their  feet  or  the 
loudness  of  their  voices.  Aware  that  lads  of  that 
age  are  no  respecters  of  persons,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  two  or  three  of  them  rush  on  to  the 
bridge  before  us,  and  even  continue  their  Parthian 
warfare  under  the  feet  of  the  horses.  The  result, 
however,  was  that  the  latter  took  fright  at  that 
part  of  the  bridge  where  the  houses  encroach  most 
on  the  roadway ;  and  but  for  the  care  of  the  run- 
ning footman,  who  hastened  to  their  heads,  might 
have  done  some  harm  either  to  the  coach  or  the 
passers-by. 

As  it  was,  we  were  brought  to  a  stop  while  one 
of  the  wheels  was  extricated  from  the  kennel,  in 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       269 

which  it  had  become  wedged.  Smiling  to  think 
what  the  King— who,  strangely  warned  by  Provi- 
dence, was  throughout  his  life  timid  in  a  coach- 
would  have  said  to  this,  I  went  to  open  the  cur- 
tains, and  had  effected  this  to  some  extent,  when 
one  of  a  crowd  of  idlers  who  stood  on  the  raised 
pavement  deliberately  lifted  up  his  arm  and  flung 
a  snowball  at  me. 

The  missile  flew  wide  of  its  mark  by  an  inch  or 
two  only.  That  I  was  amazed  at  such  audacity 
goes  without  saying;  but  doubting  of  what  it 
might  be  the  preclude — for  the  breakdown  of  the 
coach  in  that  narrow  place,  the  haunt  of  ruffiers 
and  vagrants  of  every  kind,  might  be  part  of  a 
concerted  plan— I  fell  back  into  my  place.  The 
coach,  as  it  happened,  moved  on  at  that  moment 
with  a  jerk ;  and  before  I  had  digested  the  matter, 
or  had  time  to  mark  the  demeanour  of  the  crowd, 
we  were  clear  of  the  bridge,  and  rolling  under  the 
Chatelet. 

A  smaller  man  might  have  stooped  to  punish, 
and  to  cook  a  sprat  have  passed  all  Paris  through 
the  net.  But  remembering  the  days  when  I  myself 
attended  the  College  of  Burgundy,  I  set  the  freak 
to  the  credit  of  some  young  student,  and,  shrug- 
ging my  shoulders,  dismissed  it  from  my  mind. 
An  instant  later,  however,  observing  that  the 
fragments  of  the  snowball  were  melting  on  the 
seat  and  wetting  the  leather,  I  raised  my  hand  to 
brush  them  away.  In  doing  so  I  discovered,  to 


270  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

my  surprise,  a  piece  of  paper  lying  among  the 
debris. 

"Ho,  ho!"  said  I  to  myself.  "A  strange  snow- 
ball this  !  I  have  heard  that  the  apprentices  put 
stones  in  theirs.  But  paper!  Let  me  see  what 
this  means." 

The  morsel,  though  moistened  by  the  snow, 
remained  intact.  Unfolding  it  with  care — for  al- 
ready I  began  to  discern  that  here  was  something 
out  of  the  common—I  found  written  on  the  inner 
side,  in  a  clerkly  hand,  the  words,  "Beware  of 
Nicholas!" 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Simon  Nicholas  was 
at  this  time  secretary  to  the  King,  and  so  high  in 
his  favour  as  to  be  admitted  to  the  knowledge 
of  all  but  his  most  private  affairs.  Gay,  and  of 
a  jovial  wit,  he  was  able  to  commend  himself  to 
Henry  by  amusing  him;  while  his  years,  for  he 
was  over  sixty,  seemed  warranty  for  his  discre- 
tion, and  at  the  same  time  gave  younger  sinners 
a  feeling  of  worth,  since  they  might  repent  and  he 
had  not  done  so.  Often  in  contact  with  him,  I 
had  always  found  him  equal  to  his  duties,  and 
though  too  fond  of  the  table,  and  of  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  neither  given  to  blabbing  nor 
boasting.  In  a  word,  one  for  whom  I  had  more 
liking  than  respect. 

A  man  in  his  position  possesses  opportunities  for 
evil  so  stupendous  that  as  I  read  the  warning  I 
sat  aghast.  His  office  gave  him  at  all  times  that 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       271 

ready  access  to  the  King's  person  which  is  the  aim 
of  conspirators  against  the  lives  of  sovereigns; 
and  short  of  the  supreme  treachery  he  was  master 
of  secrets  which  Biron's  associates  would  give 
much  to  gain.  When  I  add  that  I  knew  Nicholas 
to  be  a  man  of  extravagant  habits  and  careless 
life,  and  one  who,  if  rumour  did  not  wrong  him, 
had  lost  much  in  that  rearrangement  of  the 
finances  which  I  had  lately  effected,  it  will  be  seen 
that  those  words,  "Beware  of  Nicholas,"  were 
calculated  to  provoke  me  to  the  most  profound 
thought. 

Of  the  person  who  had  conveyed  the  missive 
to  my  hands  I  had  unfortunately  seen  nothing; 
though  I  believed  him  to  be  a  man,  and  young. 
But  the  circumstances,  which  seemed  to  indicate 
the  need  of  secrecy,  gave  me  a  hint  as  to  my  con- 
duct. Accordingly,  I  smoothed  my  brow,  and  on 
the  coach  stopping  at  the  Arsenal,  I  descended 
with  my  usual  face  of  preoccupation. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  my  maitre-d' hotel 
met  me. 

"M.  Nicholas,  the  King's  secretary,  is  here,"  he 
said.  "He  has  been  waiting  your  return  an  hour 
and  more,  my  lord." 

"Lay  another  cover,"  I  answered,  repressing  the 
surprise  I  could  not  but  feel  at  a  visit  so  strangely 
li  propos.  "  Doubtless  he  has  come  to  dine  with 
me." 

Staying  only  to  remoye  my  cloak,  I  went  up- 


272  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

stairs  with  an  air  as  easy  as  possible,  and,  making 
my  visitor  some  apologies  for  the  inconvenience  I 
had  caused  him,  I  insisted  he  should  sit  down 
with  me.  This  he  was  not  loth  to  do ;  though,  as 
presently  appeared,  his  errand  was  only  to  submit 
to  me  a  paper  connected  with  the  new  tax  of  a 
penny  in  the  shilling,  which  it  was  his  duty  to  lay 
before  me. 

I  scolded  him  for  the  long  period  which  had 
elapsed  since  his  last  visit,  and  succeeded  so  well 
in  setting  him  at  his  ease  that  he  presently  began 
to  rally  me  on  my  lack  of  appetite;  for  I  could 
touch  nothing  but  a  little  game  and  a  glass  of 
water.  Excusing  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  I  en- 
couraged him  to  continue  the  attack;  and  cer- 
tainly, if  appetite  waits  on  a  good  conscience,  I 
had  abundant  evidence  in  his  behalf.  He  grew 
merry  and  talkative,  and,  telling  me  some  free 
tales,  bore  himself  so  naturally  that  I  had  begun 
to  deem  my  suspicions  baseless,  when  a  chance 
word  gave  me  new  grounds  for  entertaining  them. 

I  was  on  the  subject  of  my  morning's  employ- 
ment. Knowing  how  easily  confidence  begets  con- 
fidence, and  that  in  his  position  the  matter  could 
not  be  long  kept  from  him,  I  told  him  as  a  secret 
where  I  had  been. 

"I  do  not  wish  all  the  world  to  know,  my 
friend,"  I  said.  "  But  you  are  a  discreet  man,  and 
it  will  go  no  farther.  I  am  just  from  Du  Ballot's." 

He  dropped  his  napkin  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       273 

with  a  gesture  so  hasty  that  it  caught  my  atten- 
tion and  led  me  to  watch  him.  More,  although 
my  words  seemed  to  call  for  an  answer,  he  did  not 
speak  until  he  had  taken  a  deep  draught  of  wine ; 
and  then  he  said  only,  "Indeed!"  in  a  tone  of 
such  indifference  as  might  at  another  time  have 
deceived  me,  but  now  was  patently  assumed. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  affecting  to  be  engaged  with 
my  plate:  we  were  eating  nuts.  "Doubtless  you 
will  be  able  to  guess  on  what  subject." 

"I?"  he  said,  as  quick  to  answer  as  he  had  be- 
fore been  slow.  "No,  I  think  not." 

"La  Fin,"  I  said.  "And  his  disclosures  respect- 
ing M.  de  Biron's  friends." 

"Ah!"  he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  He 
had  contrived  to  regain  his  composure,  but  I 
noticed  that  his  hand  shook,  and  I  saw  that  he 
was  quite  unable  to  chew  the  nut  he  had  just  put 
into  his  mouth.  "They  tell  me  he  accuses  every- 
body," he  continued,  his  eyes  on  his  plate.  "Even 
the  King  is  scarcely  safe  from  him.  But  I  have 
heard  no  particulars." 

"They  will  be  known  by-and-by,"  I  answered 
prudently.  And  after  that  I  did  not  think  it  wise 
to  continue,  lest  I  should  give  more  than  I  got. 
But  as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  and  we  had 
washed  our  hands,  I  led  him  to  the  closet  looking 
on  the  river,  where  I  was  hi  the  habit  of  working 
with  my  secretaries.  I  sent  them  away  and  sat 
down  with  him  to  his  paper;  but  hi  the  position 
18 


274  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

in  which  I  found  myself,  between  suspicion  and 
perplexity,  I  gathered  little  or  nothing  from  it; 
and  had  I  found  another  doing  the  King's  service 
as  negligently  I  had  sent  him  about  his  business. 
Nevertheless,  I  made  some  show  of  attention,  and 
had  reached  the  schedule  when  something  in  the 
fairly  written  summary,  which  closed  the  account, 
caught  my  eye.  I  bent  more  closely  to  it,  and 
presently  making  an  occasion  to  carry  the  parch- 
ment into  the  next  room,  compared  it  with  the 
hand- writing  on  the  scrap  of  paper  I  had  found  in 
the  snowball.  A  brief  scrutiny  proved  that  they 
were  the  work  of  the  same  person ! 

I  went  back  to  M.  Nicholas,  and  after  attesting 
the  accounts,  and  making  one  or  two  notes,  re- 
marked in  a  careless  way  on  the  clearness  of  the 
hand.  "I  am  badly  in  need  of  a  fourth  secre- 
tary," I  added.  "Your  scribe  might  do  for 
me." 

It  did  not  escape  me  that  once  again  M.  Nicho- 
las looked  uncomfortable.  His  red  face  took  a 
deeper  tinge  and  his  hand  went  nervously  to  his 
pointed  grey  beard.  "I  do  not  think  he  would  do 
for  you,"  he  muttered. 

"What  is  his  name?"  I  asked,  purposely  bending 
over  the  papers  and  avoiding  his  eye. 

"I  have  dismissed  him,"  he  rejoined  curtly.  "I 
do  not  know  where  he  could  now  be  found." 

"That  is  a  pity.  He  writes  well,"  I  answered, 
as  if  it  were  nothing  but  a  whim  that  led  me  to 


pursue  the  subject.  "And  good  clerks  are  scarce. 
What  was  his  name?" 

"Felix,"  he  said— reluctantly. 

I  had  now  all  that  I  wanted.  Accordingly  I 
spoke  of  another  matter,  and  shortly  afterwards 
Nicholas  withdrew.  He  left  me  in  much  suspicion ; 
so  that  for  nearly  half  an  hour  I  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  unable  to  decide  whether  I  should 
treat  the  warning  of  the  snowball  with  contempt, 
as  the  work  of  a  discharged  servant;  or  on  that 
very  account  attach  the  more  credit  to  it.  By- 
and-by  I  remembered  that  the  last  sheet  of  the 
roll  I  had  audited  bore  date  the  previous  day; 
whence  it  was  clear  that  Felix  had  been  dismissed 
within  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  and  perhaps 
after  the  delivery  of  his  note  to  me.  Such  a  co- 
incidence, which  seemed  no  less  pertinent  than 
strange,  opened  a  wide  field  for  conjecture;  and 
the  possibility  that  Nicholas  had  called  on  me  to 
sound  me  and  learn  what  I  knew  occurring  to  my 
mind,  brought  me  to  a  final  determination  to  seek 
out  this  Felix,  and  without  the  delay  of  an  hour 
sift  the  matter  to  the  bottom. 

Doubtless  I  shall  seem  to  some  to  have  acted 
precipitately,  and  built  much  on  small  founda- 
tions. I  answer  that  I  had  the  life  of  the  King  my 
master  to  guard,  and  in  that  cause  dared  neglect 
no  precaution,  however  trivial,  nor  any  indication, 
however  remote.  Would  that  all  my  care  and 
vigilance  had  longer  sufficed  to  preserve  for  France 


276  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  life  of  that  great  man  I  But  God  willed  other- 
wise. 

I  sent  word  at  once  to  La  Font,  my  valet-de- 
chambre,  the  same  who  persuaded  me  to  my  first 
marriage,  to  come  to  me;  and  directing  him  to 
make  secret  inquiry  where  Felix,  a  clerk  in  the 
Chamber  of  Accounts,  lodged,  bade  him  report  to 
me  on  my  return  from  the  Great  Hall,  where,  it 
will  be  remembered,  it  was  my  custom  to  give 
audience  after  dinner  to  all  who  had  business  with 
me.  As  it  happened,  I  was  detained  that  day,  and 
found  him  awaiting  me.  A  man  of  few  words,  as 
soon  as  the  door  was  shut,  "At  the  'Three  Half 
Moons,'  "  he  said,  "in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore, 
my  lord." 

"That  is  near  the  Louvre,"  I  answered.  "Get 
me  my  cloak,  and  your  own  also ;  and  bring  your 
pistols.  I  am  for  a  walk,  and  you  will  accompany 
me." 

He  was  a  good  man,  La  Font,  and  devoted  to 
my  interests.  "It  will  be  night  in  half  an  hour," 
he  answered  respectfully.  "You  will  take  some  of 
the  Swiss?" 

"  In  one  word,  no ! "  I  rejoined.  "  We  will  go  out 
by  the  stable  entrance,  and  until  we  return,  I  will 
bid  Maignan  keep  the  door,  and  admit  no  one." 

The  crowd  of  those  who  daily  left  the  Arsenal  at 
nightfall  happened  to  be  augmented  on  this  occa- 
sion by  a  troop  of  my  clients  from  Mantes;  ten- 
ants on  the  lands  of  Rosny,  who  had  lingered  after 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       277 

the  hour  of  audience  to  see  the  courts  and  garden. 
By  mingling  with  these  we  passed  out  unobserved ; 
nor,  once  in  the  streets,  where  a  thaw  had  set  in, 
that  filled  the  kennel  with  water,  was  La  Font 
long  in  bringing  me  to  the  house  I  sought.  It 
stood  on  the  outskirts  of  the  St.  Honore  Fau- 
bourg, in  a  quarter  sufficiently  respectable,  and  a 
street  marked  neither  by  squalor  nor  ostentation 
— fro,m  one  or  other  of  which  all  desperate  enter- 
prises take  their  rise.  The  house,  which  was  high 
and  narrow,  presented  only  two  windows  to  the 
street,  but  the  staircase  was  clean,  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  cross  the  threshold  without  feeling  a 
prepossession  in  Felix's  favour.  Already  I  began 
to  think  that  I  had  come  on  a  fool's  errand. 

"Which  floor?"  I  asked  La  Font. 

"The  highest,"  he  answered. 

I  went  up  softly  and  he  followed  me.  Under  the 
tiles  I  found  a  door,  and  heard  some  one  moving 
beyond  it.  Bidding  La  Font  remain  on  guard, 
and  come  to  my  aid  only  if  I  called  him,  I  knocked 
boldly.  A  gentle  voice  bade  me  enter,  and  I  did  so. 

There  was  only  one  person  in  the  room,  a  young 
woman  with  fair  waving  hair,  a  pale  freckled  face, 
and  blue  eyes ;  who,  seeing  a  cloaked  stranger  in- 
stead of  the  neighbour  she  anticipated,  stared  at 
me  in  the  utmost  wonder  and  in  some  alarm.  The 
room,  though  poorly  furnished,  was  neat  and 
clean ;  which,  taken  with  the  woman's  complexion, 
left  me  in  no  doubt  as  to  her  province.  On  the 


278  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

floor  near  the  fire  stood  a  cradle ;  and  in  the  win- 
dow a  cage  with  a  singing  bird  completed  the 
homely  aspect  of  this  interior,  which  was  such, 
indeed,  as  I  would  fain  multiply  by  thousands  in 
every  town  of  France. 

A  lamp,  which  the  woman  was  in  the  act  of 
lighting,  enabled  me  to  see  these  details,  and  also 
discovered  me  to  her.  I  asked  politely  if  I  spoke 
to  Madame  Felix,  the  wife  of  M.  Felix,  of  the 
Chamber  of  Accounts. 

"I  am  Madame  Felix,"  she  answered,  advancing 
slowly  towards  me.  "My  husband  is  late.  Do 
you  come  from  him?  It  is  not — bad  news,  Mon- 
sieur?" 

The  tone  of  anxiety  in  which  she  uttered  the 
last  question,  and  the  quickness  with  which  she 
raised  her  lamp  to  scan  my  face,  went  to  a  heart 
already  softened  by  the  sight  of  this  young  mother 
in  her  home.  I  hastened  to  answer  that  I  had  no 
bad  news,  and  wished  to  see  her  husband  on  busi- 
ness connected  with  his  employment. 

"He  is  very  late,"  she  said,  a  shade  of  per- 
plexity crossing  her  face.  "I  have  never  known 
him  so  late  before.  Monsieur  is  unfortunate." 

I  replied  that  with  her  leave  I  would  wait;  on 
which  she  very  readily  placed  a  stool  for  me,  and 
sat  down  by  the  cradle.  I  remarked  that  perhaps 
M.  Nicholas  had  detained  her  husband :  she  an- 
swered that  it  might  be  so,  but  that  she  had 
never  known  it  happen  before. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       279 

"M.  Felix  has  evening  employment?"  I  asked, 
after  a  moment's  reflection. 

She  looked  at  me  in  some  wonder.  "No,"  she 
said.  "He  spends  his  evenings  with  me,  Mon- 
sieur. It  is  not  much,  for  he  is  at  work  all 
day." 

I  bowed,  and  was  preparing  another  question, 
when  the  sound  of  footsteps  ascending  the  stairs 
reached  my  ears,  and  led  me  to  pause.  Madame 
heard  the  noise  at  the  same  moment  and  rose  to 
her  feet.  "It  is  my  husband,"  she  said,  looking 
towards  the  door  with  such  a  light  in  her  eyes  as 
betrayed  the  sweetheart  lingering  in  the  wife.  "  I 
was  afraid — I  do  not  know  what  I  feared,"  she 
muttered  to  herself. 

Proposing  to  have  the  advantage  of  seeing 
Felix  before  he  saw  me,  I  pushed  back  my  stool 
into  the  shadow,  contriving  to  do  this  so  dis- 
creetly that  the  young  woman  noticed  nothing. 
A  moment  later  it  appeared  that  I  might  have 
spared  my  pains ;  for  at  sight  of  her  husband,  and 
particularly  of  the  lack-lustre  eye  and  drooping 
head  with  which  he  entered,  she  sprang  forward 
with  a  cry  of  dismay,  and,  forgetting  my  pres- 
ence, appealed  to  him  to  know  what  was  the 
matter. 

He  let  himself  fall  on  a  stool,  the  first  he 
reached,  and,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table  in  an 
attitude  of  dejection,  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  "What  is  it?"  he  said  in  a  hollow  tone. 


280  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"We  are  ruined,  Margot.  That  is  what  it  is.  I, 
have  no  more  work.  I  am  dismissed." 

"Dismissed?"  she  ejaculated. 

He  nodded.  "Nicholas  discharged  me  this 
morning,"  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper.  He  dared 
not  speak  louder,  for  he  could  not  command  his 
voice. 

"Why?"  she  asked,  as  she  leant  over  him,  her 
hands  busy  about  him.  "What  had  you  done?" 

"Nothing!"  he  answered  with  bitterness.  "He 
has  missed  a  place  he  thought  to  get ;  and  I  must 
suffer  for  it." 

"But  did  he  say  nothing?  Did  he  give  no 
reason?" 

"Ay,"  he  answered.  "He  said  clerks  were  plen- 
tiful, and  the  King  or  I  must  starve." 

Hitherto  I  had  witnessed  the  scene  in  silence,  a 
prey  to  emotions  so  various  I  will  not  attempt 
to  describe  them.  But  hearing  the  King's  name 
thus  prostituted  I  started  forward  with  a  vio- 
lence which  made  my  presence  known.  Felix,  con- 
founded by  the  sight  of  a  stranger  at  his  elbow, 
rose  from  his  seat,  and  retreating  before  me  with 
alarm  painted  on  his  countenance,  he  asked  with 
a  faltering  tongue  who  I  was. 

I  replied  as  gently  as  possible  that  I  was  a 
friend,  anxious  to  assist  him.  Notwithstanding 
that,  seeing  that  I  kept  my  cloak  about  my  face — 
for  I  was  not  willing  to  be  recognized— he  con- 
tinued to  look  at  me  with  distrust. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       281 

"What  is  your  will?"  he  said,  raising  the  lamp 
much  as  his  wife  had  done,  to  see  me  the  better. 

"  The  answers  to  two  or  three  questions,"  I  re- 
plied. "Answer  them  truly,  and  I  promise  you 
your  troubles  are  at  an  end."  So  saying,  I  drew 
from  my  pouch  the  scrap  of  paper  which  had  come 
to  me  so  strangely.  "When  did  you  write  this, 
my  friend?"  I  continued,  placing  it  before  him. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  at  sight  of  it,  and  a  look 
of  comprehension  crossed  his  face.  For  a  moment 
he  hesitated.  Then  in  a  hurried  manner  he  said 
that  he  had  never  seen  the  paper. 

"Come,"  I  rejoined  sternly,  "look  at  it  again. 
Let  there  be  no  mistake.  When  did  you  write 
that,  and  why?" 

Still  he  shook  his  head;  and,  though  I  pressed 
him,  he  continued  so  stubborn  in  his  denial  that, 
but  for  the  look  I  had  seen  on  his  face  when  I 
produced  the  paper,  and  the  strange  coincidence  of 
his  dismissal,  I  might  have  believed  him.  As  it 
was,  I  saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  have  him  arrested 
and  brought  to  my  house,  where  I  did  not  doubt 
he  would  tell  the  truth ;  and  I  was  about  to  retire 
to  give  the  order,  when  something  in  a  sidelong 
glance  which  he  cast  at  his  wife  caught  my  eye, 
and  furnished  me  with  a  new  idea.  Acting  on  it, 
I  affected  to  be  satisfied.  I  apologized  for  my  in- 
trusion on  the  ground  of  mistake ;  and,  withdraw- 
ing to  the  door,  I  asked  him  at  the  last  moment 
to  light  me  downstairs. 


282  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Complying  with  a  shaking  hand,  he  went  out 
before  me,  and  had  nearly  reached  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  when  I  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Now,"  I  said,  fixing  him  with  my  eyes,  "your 
wife  is  no  longer  listening,  and  you  can  tell  me  the 
truth.  Who  employed  you  to  write  those  words?" 

Trembling  so  violently  that  he  had  to  lean  on 
the  balustrade  for  support,  he  told  me. 

"Madame  Nicholas,"  he  whispered. 

"What?"  I  cried,  recoiling.  I  had  no  doubt  he 
was  telling  me  the  truth.  "The  secretary's  wife, 
do  you  mean?  Be  careful,  man." 

He  nodded. 

"When?"  I  asked  suspiciously. 

"Yesterday,"  he  answered.  "She  is  an  old 
cat ! "  he  continued,  with  a  grimace.  "  I  hate  her ! 
But  my  wife  is  jealous,  and  would  think  all 
things." 

"And  did  you  throw  it  into  a  coach,"  I  said, 
"on  the  Pont  du  Change  to-day?" 

"God  forbid  !"  he  replied,  shrinking  into  himself 
again.  "I  wrote  it  for  her,  and  she  took  it  away. 
She  said  it  was  a  jest  that  she  was  playing.  That 
is  all  I  know." 

I  saw  that  he  spoke  the  truth,  and  after  a  few 
more  words  I  dismissed  him,  bidding  him  keep 
silence,  and  remain  at  home  in  case  I  needed  him. 
At  the  last,  he  plucked  up  spirit  to  ask  who  I 
was;  but  preferring  to  keep  that  discovery  for  a 
day  to  come,  when  I  might  appear  as  the  bene- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       283 

factor  of  this  little  family,  I  told  him  only  that 
I  was  one  of  the  King's  servants,  and  so  left 
him. 

It  will  be  believed  that  I  found  the  information 
I  had  received  little  to  my  mind.  The  longer  I 
dwelt  on  it,  the  more  serious  seemed  the  matter. 
While  I  could  not  imagine  circumstances  in  which 
a  woman  would  be  likely  to  inform  against  her 
husband  without  cause,  I  could  recall  more  than 
one  conspiracy  which  had  been  frustrated  by  in- 
formers of  that  class — sometimes  out  of  regard  for 
the  persons  against  whom  they  informed.  Viewed 
in  this  light,  the  warning  seemed  to  my  mind  suf- 
ficiently alarming;  but  when  I  came  also  to  con- 
sider the  secrecy  with  which  Madame  Nicholas  had 
both  prepared  it  and  conveyed  it  to  me,  the  aspect 
of  the  case  grew  yet  more  formidable.  In  the 
result,  I  had  not  passed  through  two  streets  be- 
fore my  mind  was  made  up  to  lay  the  case  before 
the  King,  and  be  guided  by  the  sagacity  which 
was  never  wanting  to  my  gracious  master. 

An  unexpected  meeting  which  awaited  me  on  my 
return  to  the  Arsenal  confirmed  me  in  this  reso- 
lution and  enabled  me  to  carry  it  into  effect.  We 
entered  without  difficulty,  and  duly  found  Maig- 
nan  on  guard  at  the  door  of  my  apartments.  But 
a  glance  at  his  face  sufficed  to  show  that  some- 
thing was  wrong ;  nor  did  it  need  the  look  of  peni- 
tence which  he  assumed  on  seeing  us— a  look  so 
piteous  that  at  another  time  it  must  have  diverted 


284  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

me — to  convince  me  that  he  had  infringed  my 
orders. 

"How  now,  sirrah?"  I  said,  without  waiting  for 
him  to  speak.  "What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"They  would  take  no  refusal,  my  lord,"  he  an- 
swered plaintively,  waving  his  hand  towards  the 
door. 

"What!"  I  cried  sternly;  for  this  was  an  in- 
stance of  such  direct  disobedience  as  I  could  scarce 
understand.  "Did  I  not  give  you  the  strictest 
orders  to  deny  me  to  everybody?" 

"They  would  take  no  refusal,  my  lord,"  he  an- 
swered penitently,  edging  away  from  me  as  he 
spoke. 

"Who  are  they?"  I  asked,  leaving  the  question 
of  his  punishment  for  another  season.  "Speak, 
rascal,  though  it  shall  not  save  you." 

"There  are  M.  le  Marquis  de  la  Varenne,  and  M. 
de  Vitry,"  he  said  slowly,  "and  M.  de  Vic,  and  M. 
Erard  the  engineer,  and  M.  de  Fontange,  and " 

"  Pardieu  ! "  I  cried,  cutting  him  short  in  a  rage ; 
for  he  was  going  on  counting  on  his  fingers  in  a 
manner  the  most  provoking.  "Have  you  let  in 
all  Paris,  dolt?  Grace!  that  I  should  be  served 
by  a  fool !  Open  the  door,  and  let  me  see  them." 

With  that  I  was  about  to  enter ;  when  the  door, 
which  I  had  not  perceived  to  be  ajar,  was  thrown 
widely  open,  and  a  laughing  face  thrust  out.  It 
was  the  King's. 

"Ha,  ha!  Grandmaster!"  he  cried,  diverted  by 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       285 

the  success  of  his  jest  and  the  change  which  doubt- 
less came  over  my  countenance.  "  Never  was  such 
hospitality,  I'll  be  sworn  !  But  come,  pardon  this 
varlet.  And  now  embrace  me,  and  tell  me  where 
you  have  been  playing  truant." 

Saying  these  words  with  the  charm  which  never 
failed  him,  and  in  his  time  won  more  foes  than  his 
sword  ever  conquered,  the  King  drew  me  into  my 
room,  where  I  found  De  Vic,  Vitry,  Roquelaure, 
and  the  rest.  They  all  laughed  heartily  at  my 
surprise ;  nor  was  Maignan,  who  was  the  author, 
it  will  be  remembered,  of  that  whimsical  procession 
to  Rosny  after  the  battle  of  Ivry,  which  I  have 
elsewhere  described,  far  behind  them;  the  rascal 
knowing  well  that  the  King's  presence  covered  all, 
and  that  in  my  gratification  at  the  honour  paid 
me  I  should  be  certain  to  overlook  his  imperti- 
nence. 

Perceiving  that  this  impromptu  visit  had  no 
other  object  than  to  divert  Henry — though  he 
was  kind  enough  to  say  that  he  felt  uneasy  when 
he  did  not  see  me  often — I  begged  to  know  if  he 
would  honour  me  by  staying  to  sup ;  but  this  he 
would  not  do,  though  he  consented  to  drink  a  cup 
of  my  Arbois  wine,  and  praised  it  highly.  By-and- 
by  I  thought  I  saw  that  he  was  willing  to  be 
alone  with  me ;  and  as  I  had  reason  to  desire  this 
myself,  I  made  an  opportunity.  Sending  for 
Arnaud  and  some  of  my  gentlemen,  I  committed 
my  other  guests  to  their  care,  and  led  the  King 


IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

into  my  closet,  where,  after  requesting  his  leave 
to  speak  on  business,  I  proceeded  to  unfold  to  him 
the  adventure  of  the  snowball,  with  all  the  par- 
ticulars which  I  have  set  dowrn. 

He  listened  attentively,  drumming  on  the  table 
with  his  fingers ;  nor  did  he  move  or  speak  when  I 
had  done,  but  still  continued  in  the  same  attitude 
of  thought.  At  last:  "Grandmaster,"  he  said, 
touching  with  his  hand  the  mark  of  the  wound  on 
his  lip,  "how  long  is  it  since  Chastel's  attempt — 
when  I  got  this?" 

"Seven  years  last  Christmas,  sire,"  I  answered, 
after  a  moment's  thought. 

"And  Barriere's?" 

"That  was  the  year  before.  Avenius'  plot  was 
that  year  too." 

"And  the  Italian's  from  Milan,  of  whom  the 
Capuchin  Honorio  warned  us?" 

"That  was  two  years  ago,  sire." 

"And  how  many  more  attempts  have  there  been 
against  my  person?"  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of 
extreme  sadness.  "Kosny,  my  friend,  they  must 
succeed  at  last.  No  man  can  fight  against  his 
fate.  The  end  is  sure,  notwithstanding  your  fidel- 
ity and  vigilance,  and  the  love  you  bear  me,  for 
which  I  love  you,  too.  But  Nicholas?  Nicholas? 
And  yet  he  has  been  careless  and  distraught  of 
late.  I  have  noticed  it;  and  a  month  back  I  re- 
fused to  give  him  an  appointment,  of  which  he 
wished  to  have  the  sale." 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       287 

I  did  not  dare  to  speak,  and  for  a  time  Henry 
too  remained  silent.  At  length  he  rose  with  an 
air  of  resolution. 

"We  will  clear  up  this  matter  within  an  hour!" 
he  said.  "I  will  send  my  people  back  to  the 
Louvre,  and  do  you,  Grandmaster,  order  half  a 
dozen  Swiss  to  be  ready  to  conduct  us  to  this 
woman's  house.  When  we  have  heard  her  we  shall 
know  what  to  do." 

I  tried  my  utmost  to  dissuade  him,  pleading 
that  his  presence  could  not  be  necessary,  and 
might  prove  a  hindrance;  besides  exposing  his 
person  to  a  certain  amount  of  risk.  But  he  would 
not  listen.  When  I  saw,  therefore,  that  his  mind 
was  made  up,  and  that  as  his  spirits  rose  he  was 
inclined  to  welcome  this  expedition  as  a  relief  from 
the  efl/2 ui  which  at  times  troubled  him,  I  reluc- 
tantly withdrew  my  opposition  and  gave  the 
necessary  orders.  The  King  dismissed  his  suite 
with  a  few  words,  and  in  a  short  space  we  were  on 
our  way,  under  cover  of  darkness,  to  the  secre- 
tary's house. 

He  lived  at  this  time  in  a  court  off  the  Rue  St. 
Jacques,  not  far  from  the  church  of  that  name; 
and  the  house  being  remote  from  the  eyes  and 
observation  of  the  street,  seemed  not  unfit  for 
secret  and  desperate  uses.  Although  we  noted 
lights  shining  behind  several  of  the  barred  win- 
dows, the  wintry  night,  the  darkness  of  the  court, 
and  perhaps  the  errand  on  which  we  came,  im- 


288  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

parted  so  gloomy  an  aspect  to  the  place  that  the 
King  hitched  forward  his  sword,  and  I  begged  him 
to  permit  the  Swiss  to  go  on  with  us.  This,  how- 
ever, he  would  not  allow,  and  they  were  left  at  the 
entrance  to  the  court  with  orders  to  follow  at  a 
given  signal. 

On  the  steps  the  King,  who,  to  disguise  himself 
the  better,  had  borrowed  one  of  my  cloaks,  stum- 
bled and  almost  fell.  This  threw  him  into  a  fit  of 
laughter;  for  no  sooner  was  he  engaged  in  an 
adventure  which  promised  peril,  than  his  spirits 
rose  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  him  the  most 
charming  companion  in  danger  man  ever  had.  He 
was  still  shaking,  and  pulling  me  to  and  fro  in  one 
of  those  boyish  frolics  which  at  times  swayed  him, 
when  a  loud  outcry  inside  the  house  startled  us 
into  sobriety,  and  reminded  us  of  the  business 
which  brought  us  thither. 

Wondering  what  it  might  mean,  I  was  for  rap- 
ping on  the  door  with  my  hilt.  But  the  King  put 
me  aside,  and,  by  a  happy  instinct,  tried  the 
latch.  The  door  yielded  to  his  hand,  and  gave  us 
admittance. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  gloomy  hall,  ill-lit,  and 
hung  with  patched  arras.  In  one  corner  stood  a 
group  of  servants.  Of  these  some  looked  scared 
and  some  amused,  but  all  were  so  much  taken  up 
with  the  movements  of  a  harsh-faced  woman,  who 
was  pacing  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  that  they 
did  not  heed  our  entrance.  A  glance  showed  me 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN       289 

that  the  woman  was  Madame  Nicholas ;  but  I  was 
still  at  a  loss  to  guess  what  she  was  doing  or 
what  was  happening  in  the  house. 

I  stood  a  moment,  and  then  finding  that  in  her 
excitement  she  took  no  notice  of  us,  I  beckoned  to 
one  of  the  servants,  and  bade  him  tell  his  mistress 
that  a  gentleman  would  speak  with  her.  The  man 
went  with  the  message ;  but  she  sent  him  off  with 
a  flea  in  his  ear,  and  screamed  at  him  so  violently 
that  for  a  moment  I  thought  she  was  mad.  Then 
it  appeared  that  the  object  of  her  attention  was  a 
door  at  that  side  of  the  hall;  for,  stopping  sud- 
denly in  her  walk,  she  went  up  to  it,  and  struck 
on  it  passionately  and  repeatedly  with  her  hands. 

"Come  out!"  she  cried.  "Come  out,  you  vil- 
lain !  Your  friends  shall  not  save  you  ! " 

Restraining  the  King,  I  went  forward  myself, 
and,  saluting  her,  begged  a  word  with  her  apart, 
thinking  that  she  would  recognize  me. 

Her  answer  showed  that  she  did  not.  "No!" 
she  cried,  waving  me  off,  in  the  utmost  excitement. 
"  No ;  you  will  not  get  me  away !  You  will  not  1 
I  know  your  tricks.  You  are  as  bad  one  as  the 
other,  and  shield  one  another  come  what  will!" 
Then  turning  again  to  the  door,  she  continued, 
"Come  out!  Do  you  hear!  Come  out!  I  will 
have  no  more  of  your  intrigues  and  your  Hal- 
lots!" 

I  pricked   up   my  ears   at  the    name.    "But, 

Madame,"  I  said,  "one  moment." 
19 


290  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Begone!"  she  retorted,  turning  on  me  so 
wrathfully  that  I  fairly  recoiled  before  her.  "I  shall 
stay  here  till  I  drop ;  but  I  will  have  him  out  and 
expose  him.  There  shall  be  an  end  of  his  precious 
plots  and  his  Hallots  if  I  have  to  go  to  the  King ! " 

Words  so  curiously  a,  propos  could  not  but  recall 
to  my  mind  the  confusion  into  which  the  mention 
of  Du  Hallot  had  thrown  the  secretary  earlier  in 
the  day.  And  since  they  seemed  also  to  be  con- 
sistent with  the  warning  conveyed  to  me,  they 
should  have  corroborated  my  suspicions.  But  a 
sense  of  something  unreal  and  fantastic,  with 
which  I  could  not  grapple,  continued  to  puzzle  me 
in  the  presence  of  this  angry  wToman ;  and  it  was 
with  no  great  assurance  that  I  said,  "Do  I  under- 
stand then,  madame,  that  M.  du  Hallot  is  in  that 
room?" 

"Monsieur  du  Hallot?"  she  replied,  in  a  tone 
that  was  almost  a  scream.  "  No  :  but  Madame  du 
Hallot  is,  and  he  would  be  if  he  had  taken  the  hint 
I  sent  him !  He  would  be !  But  I  will  have  no 
more  secrecy,  and  no  more  plots.  I  have  suffered 
enough,  and  now  Madame  shall  suffer  if  she  has 
not  forgotten  how  to  blush.  Are  you  coming  out 
there?"  she  continued,  once  more  applying  herself 
to  the  door,  her  face  inflamed  with  passion.  "I 
shall  stay !  Oh,  I  shall  stay,  I  assure  you,  until 
you  do  come.  Until  morning  if  necessary!" 

"But,  Madame,"  I  said,  beginning  to  see  day- 
light, and  finding  words  with  difficulty— for  al- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  STATESMAN      291 

ready  I  heard  in  fancy  the  King's  laughter,  and 
conjured  up  the  quips  and  cranks  with  which  he 
would  pursue  me — "your  warning  did  not  perhaps 
reach  M.  du  Ballot?" 

"It  reached  his  coach,  at  any  rate,"  the  scold 
retorted.  "But  another  time  I  will  have  no  half 
measures.  As  for  that,"  she  continued,  turning 
on  me  suddenly  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and  the 
fiercest  of  airs,  "  I  would  like  to  know  what  busi- 
ness it  is  of  yours,  Monsieur,  whether  it  reached 
him  or  not !  I  know  you,— you  are  in  league  with 
my  husband !  You  are  here  to  shelter  him,  and 
this  Madame  du  Hallot  who  is  within  here !  And 
with  whom  he  has  been  carrying  on  these  three 
months !  But " 

At  that  moment  the  door  at  last  opened;  and 
M.  Nicholas,  wearing  an  aspect  so  meek  and  crest- 
fallen that  I  hardly  knew  him,  came  out.  He  was 
followed  by  a  young  woman  plainly  dressed,  and 
looking  almost  as  much  frightened  as  himself ;  in 
whom  I  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  Felix's  wife. 

"  Why  ! "  Madame  Nicholas  cried,  her  face  falling. 
"  This  is  not — who  is  this?  Who—"  with  increased 
vehemence — "is  this  baggage,  I  would  like  to 
know?  This  shameless  creature,  that " 

"My  dear,"  the  secretary  protested,  spreading 
out  his  hands — fortunately  he  had  eyes  only  for 
his  wife  and  did  not  see  us— "this  is  one  of  your 
ridiculous  mistakes !  It  is,  I  assure  you.  This  is 
the  wife  of  a  clerk  whom  I  dismissed  to-day, 


292  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

she  has  been  with  me  begging  me  to  reinstate  her 
husband.  That  is  all.  That  is  all,  my  dear,  in 
truth  it  is.  You  have  made  this  dreadful  outcry 
for  nothing.  I  assure  you " 

I  heard  no  more,  for,  taking  advantage  of  the 
obscurity  of  the  hall,  and  the  preoccupation  of  the 
couple,  I  made  for  the  door,  and  passing  out  into 
the  darkness,  found  myself  in  the  embrace  of  the 
King ;  who,  seizing  me  about  the  neck,  laughed  on 
my  shoulder  until  he  cried,  continually  adjuring 
me  to  laugh  also,  and  ejaculating  between  the 
paroxysms,  "  Poor  du  Hallot !  Poor  du  Hallot ! " 
With  many  things  of  the  same  nature,  which  any 
one  acquainted  with  court  life  may  supply  for 
himself. 

I  confess  I  did  not  on  my  part  find  it  so  easy  to 
laugh  :  partly  because  I  am  not  of  so  gay  a  dispo- 
sition as  that  great  prince,  and  partly  because  I 
cannot  see  the  ludicrous  side  of  events  in  which  I 
myself  take  part.  But  on  the  King  assuring  me 
that  he  would  not  betray  the  secret  even  to  La 
Varenne,  I  took  comfort,  and  gradually  reconciled 
myself  to  an  episode  which,  unlike  the  more  seri- 
ous events  it  now  becomes  my  duty  to  relate,  had 
only  one  result,  and  that  unimportant.  I  mean 
the  introduction  to  my  service  of  the  clerk  Felix ; 
who,  proving  worthy  of  confidence,  remained  with 
me  after  the  lamentable  death  of  the  King  my 
master,  and  is  to-day  one  of  those  to  whom  I 
entrust  the  preparation  of  these  Memoirs. 


PART  III 


KING  TERROR 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE 

IN  a  room  on  the  second  floor  of  a  house  in  the 
Rue  Favart  in  Paris — a  large  room  scantily  and 
untidily  furnished — a  man  sat  reading  by  the  light 
of  an  oil  lamp.  The  hour  was  late,  the  night  a 
July  night  in  the  year  1794— year  two  of  the 
Republic.  The  house  already  slumbered  round 
him ;  the  sounds  of  Paris  rose  to  his  ears  softened 
by  night  and  distance.  Intent  on  his  work,  he 
looked  up  from  time  to  time  to  make  a  note ;  or, 
drawing  the  lamp  a  little  nearer  he  trimmed  its 
wick  and  set  it  back.  When  this  happened,  the 
light  falling  strongly  on  his  face,  and  bringing 
into  relief  its  harsh  lines  and  rugged  features, 
showed  him  to  be  a  man  past  middle  life,  grey- 
haired,  severe,  almost  forbidding  of  aspect. 

Peaceful  as  his  occupation  seemed,  there  was 
something  in  the  air  of  the  room  which  suggested 
change,  even  danger.  The  floor  was  littered  with 
packing  cases  and  with  books  piled  together  at 
random.  On  the  low  bedstead  lay  a  travelling 
cloak;  on  the  table,  by  the  reader's  hand,  lay  a 
pistol  and  beside  it  one  of  the  huge  sabres  which 
were  then  in  fashion.  Nor  were  these  signs  with- 
out meaning.  The  man  reading  on,  wrapt  and 
unconscious,  in  his  upper  room,  merely  followed  his 


296  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

bent.  He  read  and  reasoned,  though  in  the  great 
city  round  him  the  terror  of  the  Revolution  was 
at  its  height ;  though  the  rattle  of  the  drum  had 
scarcely  ceased  with  nightfall,  and  the  last  tumbril 
was  even  now  being  wheeled  back  into  its  shed. 

For  men  grow  strangely  callous.  The  danger 
which  impends  daily  and  every  day  ceases  to  be 
feared.  Achille  Mirande  had  seen  the  chiefs  of  his 
party  fall  round  him.  He  had  seen  Petion  and 
Barbaroux,  Louvet  and  Vergniaud  die — the  Giron- 
dins  who  had  dreamed  with  him  of  a  republic  of 
property,  free  and  yet  law-abiding.  Nor  had  his 
experiences  stopped  there.  He  had  seen  his  foes 
perish  also,  the  Hebertists  first  and  later  the 
Dantonists.  But  for  himself — death  seemed  to 
have  passed  him  by.  Danger  had  become  second 
nature ;  the  very  rumbling  of  the  tumbrils  passing 
his  house  on  the  way  to  the  guillotine  had  ceased 
to  be  anything  but  annoying;  until  to-day,  to 
avoid  the  interruption,  he  had  left  his  house  in  the 
Rue  St.  Honore  and  established  himself  in  this 
empty  flat  in  the  little  Rue  Favart. 

By-and-by  he  laid  down  the  book  he  was  reading 
and  fell  into  deep  meditation.  As  he  sat  thus, 
alone  and  silent  in  the  silent  room,  a  sound,  which 
a  keener  ear  would  have  noticed  before,  attracted 
his  attention.  Startled  in  a  degree  by  it,  he 
roused  himself;  he  looked  round.  "A  rat,  I  sup- 
pose," he  muttered.  Yet  he  continued  to  peer 
with  suspicion  into  the  corner  whence  the  sound 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE     297 

had  come,  and  presently  he  heard  it  again.  The 
next  instant  he  sprang  to  his  feet ;  phantom-like  a 
door  in  the  panelled  wall  at  the  back  of  the  room 
—a  door  in  the  wall  where  there  should  have  been 
no  door — was  swinging,  nay,  had  swung  open. 
While  he  glared  at  it,  hardly  believing  his  senses, 
a  man  appeared  standing  in  the  dark  aperture. 

The  man  was  young  and  of  middle  height. 
Dazzled  by  the  light,  and  suffering  apparently 
from  weakness,  he  paused,  leaning  for  support 
against  the  doorway.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his 
sunken  cheeks  told  of  fever  or  famine.  His  clothes 
stained  and  dusty,  and  his  unkempt  hair,  added 
to  the  wildness  of  his  appearance.  For  a  moment 
he  and  the  owner  of  the  room  glared  at  one  an- 
other in  speechless  wonder.  Then  a  name  sprang 
to  the  lips  of  each. 

"Monsieur  Mirande!"  the  younger  man  mut- 
tered. 

"De  Bercy!"  exclaimed  the  other. 

The  stranger  said  no  more,  but  shaking  with 
agitation  walked  to  a  chair  and  sat  down.  Mi- 
rande, his  face  rigid  with  passion,  stood  in  silence 
and  watched  him  do  it.  Then  the  Republican 
found  his  voice. 

"You  villain!"  he  cried,  advancing  a  step,  his 
manner  menacing.  "Was  it  not  enough  that  you 
stole  into  my  house  and  robbed  me  of  my  daugh- 
ter? Was  it  not  enough  that  you  led  her  to  for- 
feit her  life  in  your  plots  and  then  left  her  to  die? 


298  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Was  not  this  enough,  that  you  now  come  and 
insult  me  by  your  presence?" 

The  young  man  raised  his  hand  in  deprecation, 
but  seemed  unable  to  reply.  Mirande,  gazing  piti- 
lessly at  him,  presently  read  his  silence  aright, 
and  an  expression  of  cruel  joy  altered  his  feat- 
ures. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  grimly.  "  I  see  all  now. 
You  have  been  in  hiding  here.  To  be  sure,  your 
name  has  been  on  the  list  of  suspects  these  three 
months.  And  you  all  the  time  have  been  starving 
like  a  rat  behind  the  panels !  Well,  you  shall  have 
food  and  wine.  You  shall  eat,  you  shall  drink.  I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  you  cheat  the 
guillotine." 

He  went  to  a  cupboard  as  he  spoke,  and,  taking 
from  it  bread  and  wine,  he  placed  them  before  the 
other.  The  young  man  made  a  slight  gesture,  as 
though  he  would  have  refused  them ;  but  his  pale 
face  flushed  with  desire  negatived  the  action,  the 
momentary  resistance  of  his  pride  gave  way,  and 
he  ate  and  drank,  sparingly,  yet  with  the  craving 
of  a  man  half -famished. 

"I  have  not  tasted  food  for  three  days,"  he 
murmured  presently,  looking  up  with  a  glance  of 
apology.  The  wine  had  already  done  its  work. 
He  looked  a  different  man.  His  hand  was  steady, 
his  cheeks  wore  a  more  healthy  colour.  "M. 
Chareloi  hid  me  here,"  he  went  on,  "but  a  week 
ago  I  heard  a  disturbance  in  the  house,  and  com- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    299 

ing  out  when  all  was  quiet  I  found  it  empty  and 
locked.  I  fear  he  was  arrested." 

"He  was  guillotined  five  days  ago,"  the  Giron- 
din  replied  with  brutal  frankness. 

"Why?  For  what?"  the  young  man  ex- 
claimed. 

"As  a  suspect,"  Mirande  answered,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

Bercy  had  partly  risen  from  his  chair.  He  sat 
down  again,  stunned. 

"Things  move  quickly  nowadays,"  Mirande  con- 
tinued, with  a  ferocious  smile.  "To  the  Luxem- 
bourg, thence  to  the  Conciergerie,  thence  to  the 
Place  de  la  Revolution  is  a  journey  of  three 
days  at  most;  and  the  path  is  well  trodden. 
You  will  find  yourself  in  good  company,  M.  de 
Bercy." 

"You  will  give  me  up?" 

"Ay!"  the  Republican  answered  hoarsely.  He 
had  risen,  and  stood  facing  his  antagonist,  his 
hands  on  the  table,  his  face  flushed  and  swollen. 
"Ay,  though  you  were  my  own  son !  What  have 
you  not  done  to  me?  You  crept  like  a  snake  into 
my  house,  and  robbed  me  of  my  daughter ! " 

"I  made  her  my  wife!"  the  Vicomte  answered, 
with  calm  pride. 

"Ay,  and  then?  After  that  act  of  mighty  con- 
descension you  led  her  to  take  part  in  your  vile 
plot,  and  when  she  was  discovered  and  arrested, 
you  left  her  to  pay  the  penalty.  You  left  her  to 


300  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

die  alone  rather  than  risk  one  hair  of  your  miser- 
able head!" 

The  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet  in  sudden 
ungovernable  excitement.  "It  is  false!"  he  cried. 
"False!" 

"It  is  true!"  Mirande  retorted,  striking  the 
table  so  violently  that  the  room  rang  again  and 
the  flame  of  the  lamp  leapt  up  and  for  an  instant 
dyed  the  two  angry  faces  with  a  lurid  gleam. 

"I  say  it  is  false!"  the  Vicomte  replied  sternly. 
"  On  the  contrary,  being  at  Kheims  when  I  heard 
that  Corinne  was  arrested,  I  took  horse  on  the 
instant.  I  rode  for  Paris  as  a  man  rides  for  life. 
I  was  anxious  to  give  myself  up  in  her  place  if  I 
could  save  her  in  no  other  way.  But  at  Meaux, 
M.  Mirande,  I  met  your  agent " 

"And  went  back  to  Rheims  again  and  into  hid- 
ing," the  other  continued,  with  a  bitter  sneer, 
"after  sending  me,  her  father,  the  shameful  mes- 
sage that  your  duty  to  your  race  forbade  the  last 
of  the  Bercys  to  die  for  a  merchant's  daughter." 

"I  sent  that  message,  do  you  say?  I?  I?"  the 
young  man  cried. 

"Yes,  you!  Who  else?  You— sent  it  after  hear- 
ing from  me  that  if  you  would  surrender,  the 
Committee  of  Safety  would  suffer  her  to  escape! 
So  much  my  services  had  wrung  from  them — in 
vain.  What?  Do  you  deny  that  you  met  my 
agent  at  night  in  the  yard  of  the  Three  Kings  at 
Meaux,  M.  le  Vicomte?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE     301 

"I  met  him,"  the  young  man  answered  firmly, 
though  his  frame  was  a-shake  with  excitement. 
"But  I  did  not  send  that  message  by  him!  Nor 
did  he  give  me  such  a  message  as  you  state.  On 
the  contrary,  he  told  me  that  I  was  too  late,  that 
my  wife  had  suffered  two  days  before;  and  that 
you  bade  me  save  myself,  if  I  could." 

"Ay,  she  suffered,"  Mirande  answered  ironically. 
"But  it  was  four  days  later.  And  for  the  rest 
you  tell  me  nothing  but  lies,  and  clumsy  ones." 

"What  I  tell  you,"  the  Vicomte  rejoined,  with  a 
solemnity  which  at  last  enforced  the  other's  atten- 
tion, "is  as  true  as  that  I  loved  my  wife  and 
would  have  died  to  save  her.  I  swear  it ! " 

M.  Mirande  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  his  son-in-law. 
There  was  a  new  expression,  an  expression  almost 
of  fear,  in  his  eyes. 

"Should  you  know  the  messenger  again?"  he 
asked  at  last. 

"I  do  not  think  I  should,"  the  Vicomte  an- 
swered. "He  inquired  for  me  by  the  name  upon 
which  we  had  agreed.  We  were  together  for  a  few 
minutes  only,  and  the  night  was  dark,  the  only 
light  a  distant  lanthorn." 

"Would  he  know  you,  do  you  think?" 

"I  cannot  say." 

M.  Mirande  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  strode 
half  a  dozen  times  up  and  down  the  room,  his  face 
dark  with  thought,  with  suspicion,  with  uncer- 


302  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

tainty.  At  length  he  stopped  before  his  son-in- 
law. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  meeting  and  striving  to 
read  the  young  man's  eyes.  "It  is  possible  that 
what  you  say  is  true  and  that  you  are  not  the 
coward  I  have  thought  you.  In  that  case  you 
shall  have  justice  at  my  hands.  Before  I  give  you 
up  to  the  Committee  of  Safety,  who  will  deal 
shortly  with  you,  I  will  resolve  the  doubt.  Until 
I  find  the  means  to  solve  it,  you  may  stay  here." 

"Indeed?"  cried  the  young  man  proudly.  "But 
what  if  I  am  not  willing  to  be  beholden  to  you?" 

"Then  you  have  your  alternative!"  Mirande 
answered  coolly.  "Come  with  me  to  the  nearest 
Guard  House,  and  I  will  inform  against  you. 
After  all,  it  will  be  the  shortest  way.  It  was  only 
that  being  a  citizen,  and  not  a  ci-devant,  I  wished 
to  do  justice — even  to  you." 

The  young  man  hesitated.  He  had  spoken 
truly  when  he  suggested  that  he  was  unwilling  to 
be  beholden  to  Mirande.  But  the  alternative 
meant  certain  death. 

"I  will  stop,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  shrugging 
his  shoulders  as  he  accepted  the  strange  offer 
made  him.  "  Why  should  I  not?  It  is  your  agent 
who  has  lied,  not  I." 

"We  shall  see,"  replied  the  other,  without  emo- 
tion. "There  is  one  thing,  however,  I  must  name 
to  you.  I  know  that  you  are  a  gallant  among 
the  ladies,  M,  de  Bercy.  My  daughter  Claire,  who, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE     303 

was  at  the  seminary  when  you  visited  me  before, 
is  now  at  home.  You  will  kindly  restrict  your  in- 
tercourse with  her  to  the  most  formal  limits.  Un- 
fortunately," he  continued,  with  a  strange  bitter- 
ness in  his  tone,  "she  is  like  her  sister,  and  the 
same  arts  that  won  the  one,  may  win  the  other 
from  the  path  of  duty." 

"For  shame,  sir!"  the  young  noble  answered, 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  indignation.  "You  insult, 
not  me,  but  your  dead  daughter !  Do  you  think 
that  I  loved  her  for  her  fortune  alone?  Or  that 
her  very  image,  untenanted  by  her  soul,  would 
satisfy  me?" 

"They  were  singularly  alike,"  Mirande  mut- 
tered with  a  grim  shrug.  "God  knows!  At  any 
rate  you  are  warned." 

The  young  man  shot  at  him  an  angry  glance, 
but  said  no  more;  and  Mirande,  seeming  to  be 
satisfied  that  his  condition  was  accepted,  dropped 
the  subject  and  proceeded  to  show  his  guest 
where  he  might  sleep ;  for  the  latter  felt  a  natural 
reluctance  to  return  to  his  narrow  prison  behind 
the  wainscot.  In  a  few  minutes  the  light  was 
extinguished  and  the  two  men,  thus  strangely 
brought  together  again,  lay  a  few  feet  from  one 
another ;  the  mind  of  each  turning  in  the  stillness 
of  the  night,  to  the  link  which  had  bound  them, 
nay,  which  still  bound  them  in  a  forced  and  un- 
congenial union. 

The  Vicomte  was  aware  that  his  host  ran  a 


304  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

certain  risk  in  sheltering  him.  The  supremacy 
which  Robespierre  had  won  at  this  time,  and  the 
desperate  lengths  to  which  he  had  gone,  exposed 
all  who  were  not  of  his  immediate  following  to 
a  jealousy  that  had  already  hurried  to  the  guil- 
lotine the  chiefs  of  half  a  dozen  sections  of  the 
Republican  party.  Mirande,  as  one  of  the  few 
surviving  Girondins  and  as  a  man  still  possessing 
friends  and  influence  was  peculiarly  obnoxious  to 
suspicion.  The  slightest  accusation,  the  word  of 
a  servant,  the  hint  of  a  rival,  would  suffice  to 
despatch  him  also  along  the  path  which  so  many 
trod  daily. 

The  Vicomte,  therefore,  on  rising  in  the  morn- 
ing, proposed  to  withdraw  to  his  hiding-place.  M. 
Mirande,  however,  a  little  to  his  guest's  surprise, 
would  not  hear  of  this ;  observing  curtly  that  he 
could  trust  his  household,  and  that  a  change  of 
name  was  all  that  safety  required.  The  younger 
man,  whose  anxiety  was  not  on  his  own  account 
only,  would  have  argued  the  point;  but  his  host 
cut  short  the  matter  by  opening  the  door,  and 
ushering  the  Vicomte,  almost  before  the  young 
man  was  aware,  into  another  room — a  room, 
large  and  scantily  furnished,  but  in  other  respects 
in  striking  contrast  to  that  which  he  had  left. 
Here  the  tall,  narrow  windows,  three  in  number, 
were  open;  the  sunlight  poured  in  through  half- 
closed  jalousies  and  fell  in  bars  on  the  shining 
parquet,  and  on  a  little  table  daintily  laid  for  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    305 

morning  meal  and  gay  with  flowers.  In  the  cooler 
and  darker  parts  of  the  room  stood  high-backed 
chairs  littered  with  a  dozen  articles  which  spoke 
of  a  woman's  presence ;  here  a  fan  and  silk  hood, 
there  a  half-mended  glove.  As  the  young  man's 
eyes  fell  on  these,  and  he  drank  in  the  airy  bright- 
ness and  even  luxury  of  the  room,  he  felt  a  strange 
pang  of  regret  and  misery.  Such  things  were 
no  longer  for  him.  Such  prettinesses  no  longer 
formed  part  of  his  life.  And  then  he  turned,  and 
in  an  instant  forgot  his  unhappiness  and  his  loss 
in  the  sight  of  a  young  girl  who,  seated  a  little 
aside,  had  risen  at  his  entrance  and  now  stood 
facing  him,  her  back  to  the  light. 

He  had  been  warned;  yet  he  stood  thunder- 
struck, breathless,  staring.  His  eyes  grew  large, 
his  jaw  fell,  the  room  for  a  moment  went  round 
with  him.  The  likeness  of  the  woman  before  him 
to  his  dead  wife  was  so  strong,  so  complete,  so 
astonishing,  that  involuntarily,  not  knowing  what 
he  did,  he  held  out  his  hands. 

"Corinne!"  he  muttered,  his  voice  full  of  tears. 
"Corinne!" 

The  girl,  who  but  for  the  ravages  of  ill-health 
would  have  been  very  beautiful,  did  not  answer; 
nevertheless  she  seemed  scarcely  less  affected  by 
his  sudden  appearance  and  his  strange  address. 
She  swayed  on  her  feet,  and  had  she  not  grasped 
a  chair  would  have  fallen.  A  burning  flush  for  an 
instant  lit  up  her  wan  cheek,  to  disappear  at  the 


306  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

first  sound  of  her  father's  voice.  He  had  followed 
Bercy  into  the  room,  and  his  tone  was  sharp  with 
reproof  and  warning. 

"Citizen  Perrot,"  he  said  sternly,  "this  is  my 
daughter  Claire.  Here  is  your  place.  Be  seated, 
if  you  please." 

The  Vicomte  mechanically  did  as  he  was  told 
without  looking  where  he  sat.  His  hands  shook, 
his  brain  was  on  fire.  He  had  eyes  only  for  the 
girl;  who  was  so  wondrously,  so  completely,  like 
his  wife.  She  had  taken  her  seat  with  some  ti- 
midity at  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and  if  she  no 
longer  betrayed  the  same  emotion,  her  eyes  were 
downcast,  the  colour  fluttered  in  her  cheeks.  It 
was  in  vain  that  Mirande  shot  angry  glances  at 
her— and  at  him.  The  young  man  stared  as  one 
enchanted,  seeing  only  the  white-robed  figure 
seated  between  himself  and  the  sunlight,  that, 
shining  through  her  dark  hair,  found  golden 
threads  in  it,  and  crowned  the  face  he  knew  so 
well  with  an  aureole  of  brightness. 

Gradually  the  spell  fell  from  him.  For  as  he 
looked,  the  girl's  face  changed  and  hardened  and 
grew  older ;  grew  sharper  and  whiter ;  and  he  dis- 
cerned the  difference  between  Claire  and  Corinne. 
Corinne  had  never  looked  at  him,  or  at  any  one, 
after  that  fashion.  With  a  sigh,  yet  with  eyes 
that  often  and  involuntarily  returned  to  the 
lode-star,  he  recovered  himself;  and  he  made,  or 
pretended  to  make,  a  meal.  His  appetite,  how- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    307 

ever,  was  gone,  and  he  was  thankful  when  his 
host  rose  and  put  an  end  to  the  constrained  sit- 
ting. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  the  Republican  said,  draw- 
ing out  his  watch  and  looking  at  it.  "I  should 
be  at  M.  Carnot's  at  this  hour.  These  rooms, 
however,  are  at  your  disposal,  my  friend;  and  if 
you  want  books,  my  daughter  will  direct  you 
where  to  find  them.  But — caution,  remember ! " 

And  with  that,  to  the  Vicomte's  astonishment, 
M.  Mirande  departed,  leaving  the  two  together. 
For  a  moment  the  young  man  sat,  troubled  and 
perplexed,  gazing  at  the  floor.  He  had  intercepted 
the  glance  of  warning  which  his  host  on  leaving 
had  aimed  at  his  daughter;  and  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  was  suspected,  with  the  brutally  frank 
exhortation  addressed  to  himself  fresh  in  his  mind, 
to  be  left  alone  with  the  girl  surprised  him  beyond 
measure. 

Presently  he  stole  a  look  at  her.  She  had  passed 
to  one  of  the  windows,  and,  having  seated  her- 
self, was  employed  upon  some  needle-work.  Her 
attitude,  the  lines  of  her  figure,  the  pose  of  her 
head,  presented  the  same  abnormal  maddening 
resemblance  to  his  wife;  and  slowly,  as  if  fasci- 
nated, he  moved  nearer  to  her. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said  at  last,  speaking  almost 
in  a  whisper.  "You  are  very  like  your  sister, 
mademoiselle." 

She  glanced  quickly  at  him,  her  face  wearing 


308  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

the  hard,  sharp  look  that  had  slowly  grown  upon 
it.  But  she  gave  him  no  other  answer. 

He  felt  that  he  ought  to  leave  her,  but  the  spell 
was  upon  him  and  he  lingered. 

"You  have  been  ill,  I  fear,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
silence. 

' '  Monsieur  is  right, ' '  she  answered  briefly.  ' '  The 
times  are  such  that  few  of  us  escape.  Those  are 
perhaps  most  happy,"  and  as  she  paused  on  the 
word  she  looked  up  at  him,  "who  die  with  their 
beliefs  unshattered,  before  discovering  the  clay 
feet  of  their  idols." 

He  started. 

"Mademoiselle!"  he  cried  almost  fiercely,  car- 
ried away  by  an  intensely  painful  thought.  "My 
wife !  Your  sister?  Answer  me,  answer  me  quick- 
ly, I  beg  of  you.  They  did  not— they  did  not  tell 
her  that  I— that  I  refused " 

"That  monsieur  declined  to  save  her?"  Made- 
moiselle Claire  answered  slowly,  her  great  dark 
eyes  looking  into  vacancy— into  the  depths  of 
gloomy  memories.  "Yes,  they  did.  A  woman, 
perhaps,  would  not  have  done  it ;  would  not  have 
borne  to  do  it.  But  men  are  cruel — cruel !  And 
after  all  it  helped  her  to  die,  you  understand.  It 
made  it  more  easy." 

He  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  his 
face  hidden  in  his  hands.  And  there  his  frame 
began  to  be  racked  by  deep  sobs.  He  tried  to 
summon  up  his  pride,  his  courage,  his  manliness ; 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    309 

but  in  vain.  The  thought  that  the  woman  who 
had  loved  and  trusted  him,  his  young  wife — his 
young  wife  of  a  few  months  only — had  died  be- 
lieving him  a  coward  and  an  ingrate  was  too 
bitter !  Too  bitter,  the  conviction  that,  mistaken 
as  her  belief  was,  it  could  never  be  altered !  Never 
be  altered  !  She  would  never  know ! 

A  light  touch  on  his  arm  recalled  him  to  himself. 
He  turned  and  found  Mademoiselle  Claire  at  his 
elbow  holding  a  glass  of  wine  towards  him.  Her 
lips  were  compressed,  but  her  face  wore  a  delicate 
flush,  and  her  eyes  were  changed  and  softened. 

"Drink,"  she  muttered  hurriedly.  "You  are 
still  weak;  you  have  eaten  nothing." 

He  controlled  himself  by  an  effort  and  took  the 
wine ;  and  the  girl,  moving  away  quickly,  brought 
from  the  table  a  roll  and,  without  again  meeting 
his  eyes,  laid  it  on  a  chair  beside  him.  She  was 
in  the  act  of  regaining  her  place  by  the  window, 
when  the  door  opened  somewhat  abruptly,  and 
the  young  Vicomte,  scarcely  master  of  himself, 
turned  and  discovered  a  man  standing  on  the 
threshold. 

The  stranger  stared  at  him  and  he  at  the  stran- 
ger, while  Mademoiselle  Claire,  with  eyes  which  on 
a  sudden  became  keen  and  intent,  seemed  to  for- 
get herself  in  gazing  on  both.  The  new-comer  was 
taller  than  the  Vicomte  and  of  about  the  same 
age;  a  thin,  lithe  man,  with  restless  eyes  and 
dark,  tumbled  hair.  He  scanned  the  Vicomte  with 


310  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

at  least  as  much  disfavour  as  the  latter,  taken 
by  surprise,  spent  on  him;  and  he  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  alone,  mademoiselle," 
he  said,  frowning  as  he  advanced  into  the  room 
and  looked  about  him  suspiciously. 

"This  is  a  friend  of  my  father's,"  she  answered, 
"He  is  staying  with  us,  M.  Baudouin." 

The  explanation  did  not  seem  to  improve  mat- 
ters in  the  young  man's  eyes.  He  frowned  still 
more  gloomily. 

"Monsieur  is  from  the  country?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  the  Vicomte  answered.  "I  have  been  in 
Paris  some  months." 

The  stranger  looked  darkly  down,  toying  with 
a  book  which  lay  at  the  edge  of  the  table.  The 
girl  waited  awhile  and  then — 

"Did  you  bring  a  message  from  my  father?" 
she  asked,  a  slight  tinge  of  impatience  and  hau- 
teur in  her  manner. 

"No,  mademoiselle,  I  have  not  seen  him  this 
morning,"  he  answered.  And  his  sullenness 
matched  her  impatience. 

"Had  you  not  better  follow  him  then?"  she 
said,  with  sharpness.  "  He  is  at  M.  Carnot's.  He 
may  need  you." 

For  a  moment  it  was  plain  that  M.  Baudouin 
hesitated,  but  in  the  end  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
obey,  and  bowing  with  exaggerated  respect  he  left 
the  room. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    311 

The  Vicomte  thought  that  he  could  not  do  bet- 
ter than  follow  the  other's  example,  and  he  too 
withdrew.  Crossing  the  lobby  to  the  room  which 
communicated  with  his  hiding-place  he  threw  him- 
self into  a  chair  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  most 
melancholy  reflections.  The  singular  resemblance 
which  Mademoiselle  Claire  bore  to  his  wife  must 
alone  have  sufficed  to  fill  him  with  vain  longings 
and  poignant  regrets ;  but  these  were  now  rendered 
a  thousand  times  more  bitter  by  the  knowledge, 
so  cruelly  conveyed  to  him,  that  his  wife  had  died 
believing  him  a  heartless  and  faithless  coward. 

The  return  of  M.  Mirande  later  in  the  day,  if  it 
did  not  dispel  these  gloomy  thoughts,  compelled 
him  at  any  rate  to  conceal  them.  The  evening 
meal  passed  much  as  the  morning  one  had  passed ; 
the  host  uttering  a  few  formal  phrases,  while  the 
other  two  sat  for  the  most  part  silent.  The  Vi- 
comte could  not  avert  his  eyes  from  his  sister-in- 
law;  and  though  he  no  longer  felt  the  violent 
emotions  which  her  face  had  at  first  awakened  in 
him,  he  sat  sad  and  unhappy.  Her  pale  features 
reminded  him  of  the  dead  past :  and  at  once 
tortured  him  with  regret,  and  tantalized  him  with 
the  simulacrum  of  that  which  had  been  his.  He 
could  have  cursed  the  Heaven  that  had  formed 
two  beings  so  much  alike. 

In  this  way  a  week  passed  by,  and  little  by  little 
a  vague  discomfort  and  restlessness  began  to 
characterize  the  attitude  of  his  mind  towards 


312  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

her.  He  felt  himself  at  once  attracted  by  her 
beauty— as  what  man  of  his  years  would  not? 
—and  repelled  by  the  likeness  that  made  of  the 
feeling  a  sacrilege.  Meantime,  whether  he  would 
or  no,  they  were  left  together — much  together. 
M.  Mirande  went  abroad  each  day  and  seemed 
intent  on  public  affairs.  Each  day,  indeed,  his 
look  grew  a  trifle  more  austere,  and  the  shade 
on  his  brow  grew  deeper;  but  though  it  was 
evident  that  the  situation  out-of-doors  was 
growing  more  strained,  the  storms  which  were 
agitating  Paris  and  desolating  so  many  homes 
affected  the  little  household  in  no  other  way.  The 
Vicomte  kept  necessarily  within,  spending  most  of 
his  time  in  reading.  Mademoiselle  Claire  also 
went  seldom  abroad ;  and  it  followed  that  during 
the  long  July  days  when  the  sunshine  flooded  the 
second  floor,  in  the  early  mornings  when  the  spar- 
rows perched  on  the  open  jalousies  and  twittered 
gaily,  or  in  the  grey  evenings,  when  the  night  fell 
slowly,  they  met  from  time  to  time — met  not  in- 
frequently. On  such  occasions  the  Vicomte  noticed 
that  Baudouin  was  never  far  distant.  The  secre- 
tary, as  a  rule,  put  in  an  appearance  before  the 
conversation  had  lasted  ten  minutes. 

Bercy  began  to  suspect  the  cause  of  this,  and 
one  day  he  happened  upon  a  discovery.  He  was 
sitting  in  M.  Mirande's  room,  when  the  sound 
of  a  raised  voice  made  him  lay  down  his  book 
and  listen.  The  voice  seemed  to  come  from  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    313 

parlour.  Once  he  was  assured  of  this,  and  that 
the  speaker,  whose  anger  was  apparent,  was  not 
Mirande,  he  took  his  steps.  He  stole  out  upon  the 
lobby,  and  found  the  parlour  door  as  he  had  sus- 
pected slightly  ajar.  Any  scruples  he  might  have 
entertained  were  dispelled  by  the  certainty  that 
the  speaker  was  Baudouin  and  that  the  person 
whom  he  was  addressing  in  harsh  and  vehement 
tones,  was  Mademoiselle  Claire.  The  Vicomte 
drew  himself  up  behind  the  door  and  listened. 

"What  would  I  have?"  were  the  first  words  he 
caught.  "Little  enough,  heaven  knows!  Little 
enough !  What  have  I  ever  asked  except  to  be 
allowed  to  serve?  To  gratify  your  least  caprice. 
To  be  at  your  beck  and  call.  To  fetch  and  carry 
while  another  basked  in  your  smiles.  That  is  all 
I  asked  in  the  old  days  and  I  ask  no  more  now. 
I  am  content  to  serve  and  wait  and  hope.  But  I 
will  have — no  stranger  come  between  us.  Not 
again !  Not  again  ! " 

"You  do  not  understand,  M.  Baudouin,"  the 
girl  answered  hurriedly. 

"Do  I  not?"  he  cried.  "Perhaps  I  did  not  un- 
derstand last  time.  But  this  time  I  do.  I  do ! 
It  had  been  well  for  you  had  I  known  more 
then!" 

"Spare  me,"  she  said  faintly,  overcome  appar- 
ently by  some  hidden  meaning  in  his  words. 

"That  you  may  amuse  yourself  with  this  stran- 
ger?" he  retorted.  "No,  I  have  given  way 


314  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

enough.  It  had  been  better,  as  I  say,  if  I  had 
not,  mademoiselle." 

The  stress  he  laid  on  the  last  word  was  unintelli- 
gible to  the  hidden  listener,  who  knew  only  that 
it  veiled  an  insult  and  drew  nearer  to  the  door. 
The  girl  remained  silent  and  Baudouin  presuming 
on  this  continued  in  a  tone  still  more  aggressive, 
"Times  are  changed,  mademoiselle,  changed  in 
the  last  month.  You,  living  out  of  the  world,  are 
ignorant  of  what  is  passing,  and  your  father  is 
being  left  as  completely  behind.  Unless  I  make  a 
mistake,  in  a  little  time  you  will  need  other  and 
stronger  protection  than  his." 

"Not  while'  he  lives,"  the  girl  answered,  in  a 
low  tone. 

Baudouin  laughed.  "The  pitcher  goes  often  to 
the  well,  but  it  is  broken  at  last,"  he  said  drily. 
"I  would  have  you  understand  that,  since  you 
may  stand  in  need  of  my  help,  you  would  do 
well  not  to  try  me  too  far." 

"M.  Baudouin,"  the  girl  said  abruptly— and  her 
tone  was  changed,  and  the  listener,  though  he 
could  not  sec  her,  could  picture  the  challenge  of 
her  startled  eyes — "you  have  never  spoken  to  me 
in  this  way  before.  You  have  changed." 

"So  are  the  times.  Those  who  were  servants 
are  now  masters!" 

"You  will  never  be  mine,"  the  girl  said  firmly. 

"We  shall  see!"  he  answered. 

"We  shall   see!"   cried   an  unexpected  voice — 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    315 

that  of  the  Vicomte,  who  could  bear  it  no  lon- 
ger. His  eyes  stern,  his  colour  high,  he  flung  the 
door  wide  and  entered.  The  secretary,  startled, 
stepped  back  a  pace.  The  girl,  who  had  been 
standing  close  to  the  door,  turned,  and  seeing 
who  it  was,  uttered  a  low  cry  of  thankfulness ;  in 
her  relief  she  even  stretched  out  her  hands  as  if 
she  would  grasp  the  new-comer's  arm.  The  next 
instant  she  drew  back,  a  strange  expression  in 
her  eyes. 

"Now,  sir,"  the  young  Vicomte  continued, 
harshly,  "you  have  to  deal  with  a  man,  and  not 
with  a  woman  whom  you  can  terrify.  I  have 
overheard  all,  and  I  warn  you  that  on  his  return 
I  shall  repeat  it  word  for  word  to  M.  Mirande, 
who  will  know  how  to  deal  with  you." 

He  expected  that  the  threat  would  produce  its 
effect,  and  that  the  secretary  taken  in  the  act 
would  resume  his  normal  demeanour.  But  Bau- 
douin,  his  first  surprise  over,  merely  smiled.  "Who 
are  you,  I  wonder,"  he  replied  grimly.  "One 
in  the  Tallien-Barrere-Carnot  conspiracy,  that's 
afoot,  I  suppose.  If  so,  I  need  not " 

"You  need  suppose  nothing!"  the  Vicomte  re- 
torted fiercely.  "But  leave  the  room  without 
words,  you  dog!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  secretary,  smiling  con- 
temptuously. "But  I  would  have  you  remember 
that  a  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion." 

With  that— and  with  little  show  of  embarrass- 


316  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

ment  or  dismay— he  went  out.  As  the  door  closed 
behind  him  a  singular  constraint  fell  upon  the 
two  who  were  left.  The  Vicomte,  with  a  grave 
face,  paused  by  the  table,  and  stood  listening  to 
the  sound  of  his  retreating  footsteps.  The  girl, 
who  had  withdrawn  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
room,  kept  her  face  averted.  The  Vicomte  looked 
at  her  doubtfully — looked  at  her  more  than  once. 
1  'Mademoiselle,"  he  ventured  at  last,  his  voice  low 
and  agitated,  "I  am  afraid  he — I  am  afraid  he 
means  mischief." 

"I  fear  so,"  she  whispered  without  turning. 

"Will  you — shall  I  speak  to  your  father?" 

"It  may  be  better,"  she  answered— hi  the  same 
tone. 

He  looked  at  her  long  at  that,  but  she  did  not 
move ;  and  with  a  gesture  as  of  farewell  he  turned 
and  went  softly  away.  Safe  in  his  own  room, 
with  the  door  shut,  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  thinking;  thinking  not  of  the  secretary  nor 
of  the  danger  with  which  Baudouin's  enmity  threat- 
ened the  house,  but  of  the  strange  look  which  the 
girl's  face  had  worn  on  his  first  appearance  at  her 
side,  the  look  of  relief  and  thankfulness  which  he 
had  surprised  in  her  eyes,  the  impulse  of  confi- 
dence which  had  made  her  move  towards  him! 
He  recalled  them  all,  and  his  brow  grew  hot,  his 
hand  trembled.  He  felt  at  once  terror  and  shame. 
When  he  heard  M.  Mirande's  step  on  the  stairs, 
he  gave  himself  no  time  for  thought,  but  went 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE     317 

hurriedly  out  on  the  lobby  and  called  him  into  the 
room.  "M.  Mirande,"  he  said,  "I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you.  I  have  two  things  to  tell  you." 

The  Republican  looked  at  him,  his  inscrutable 
eyes  betraying  no  surprise.  "What  are  they?"  he 
asked,  his  tone  almost  phlegmatic. 

"The  man  Baudouin  has  been  here,  addressing 
himself  so  rudely  to  your  daughter  that  I  felt 
myself  obliged  to— to  interfere." 

"That  is  unlucky." 

"It  may  be  that  he  has  your  confidence,"  the 
young  Vicomte  continued,  "but,  from  the  way  in 
which  he  spoke  of  you,  I  doubt  if  you  have  his. 
He  seemed  to  me — a  dangerous  man,  M.  Bau- 
douin." 

"Did  he  use  threats?"  the  Republican  asked,  a 
slight  shade  of  anxiety  in  his  tone. 

The  Vicomte  nodded. 

"Did  he  mention  any  names?"  M.  Mirande  con- 
tinued, looking  sharply  at  his  watch. 

"Yes.  Those  of  Carnot,  Barrere — and  I  think, 
Tallien." 

"Ah!"  Fora  moment  M.  Mirande's  impulse 
seemed  to  be  to  leave  the  room;  to  leave  it  hur- 
riedly, to  go  back  perhaps  whence  he  had  come. 
But  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  after  a  pause  he 
continued,  "Had  you  not  something  else  to  tell 
me?" 

"I  had,"  the  young  man  answered,  betraying, 
by  his  agitation,  that  he  had  now  come  to  the 


318  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

real  purpose  for  which  he  had  sought  the  inter- 
view. "I  wish  to  leave,  M.  Mirande.  I  wish  to 
leave  your  house  at  once.  I  do  not  know,"  he 
continued  hurriedly,  before  the  elder  man  could 
utter  the  dry  retort  which  was  on  his  lips, 
"whether  you  had  it  in  your  mind  to  try  me  by 
leaving  me  with  your  daughter,  or  whether  I 
have  only  my  own  weakness  to  thank.  But  I 
must  go.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  I  hate  myself 
for  it ;  but  I  cannot  be  with  her  and  not  feel  what 
I  ought  not  to  feel.  Understand  me,"  the  young 
man  continued,  his  cheeks  pale;  "it  is  not  by 
reason  of  any  charm  of  hers,  but  because  she  is 
so  like — so  like  my  wife — because  she  seems  a  dozen 
times  a  day  to  be  my  wife,  that  my  memory  is 
unfaithful  to  Corinne — that  I  dare  not  remain 
here  another  day!" 

He  stopped  abruptly.    M.  Mirande  coughed. 

"This  is  a  strange  confession,"  he  said,  after  a 
long  pause.  "You  have  said  nothing  to  Claire?" 

"Heaven  forbid!" 

"Then  say  nothing!"  the  Republican  replied 
with  curt  decision.  "As  for  leaving  this  place 
to-day,  it  is  impossible.  A  crisis  is  at  hand ;  this 
house  is  watched.  You  would  be  recognized  and 
arrested  before  you  passed  ten  yards  from  the 
door.  Moreover,"  he  went  on,  seeming  to  ponder 
deeply  as  he  spoke,  "if  you  are  right  about  Bau- 
douin— and  I  doubt  now  whether  I  have  been 
wise  to  trust  him  —  I  see  great  and  immediate 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    319 

danger  before  me.  Therefore,  if  you  would  not 
desert  the  sinking  ship,  you  must  remain." 

"I  dare  not,"  the  young  man  muttered,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

"What?"  the  old  Girondin  answered,  his  voice 
swelling,  his  eyes  growing  bright.  "  You  a  noble, 
and  you  dare  not?  You  a  noble,  and  you  cannot 
govern  yourself?  Consider,  M.  le  Vicomte!  A 
few  days  may  see  me  traverse  the  road  so  many 
traverse  every  day;  the  road  of  the  guillotine. 
Then  my  daughter  will  be  alone,  defenceless,  un- 
protected. I  ask  you— for  I  have  no  one  else  to 
whom  I  can  turn— to  be  her  brother  and  her 
guardian.  Do  you  refuse?" 

"You  no  longer  distrust  me?"  the  Vicomte  mut- 
tered, his  cheek  hot. 

"When  you  came  to  me  a  week  ago,"  Mirande 
answered,  "I  did  not  foresee  this  crisis,  nor  the 
present  danger.  If  I  had,  I  might  have  received 
you  differently.  But,  see  you,  what  if  this  be  the 
way  in  which  I  would  try  you?"  he  continued 
with  energy.  "What  if  this  be  the  atonement 
heaven  has  assigned  to  you?  In  that  case,  do 
you  accept,  or  do  you  refuse?" 

"I  accept,"  the  Vicomte  answered  solemnly, 
carried  away  by  the  other's  burst  of  feeling.  "I 
accept  the  charge." 

M.  Mirande  smiled,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
Quickly  the  light  died  out  of  his  face,  leaving  it 
stern  and  austere.  His  brow  grew  ciarkj  and  turn- 


320  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

ing  with  a  sigh  to  his  table,  he  signed  to  his 
companion  to  leave  him,  and  was  presently  im- 
mersed in  figures  and  calculations. 

The  young  man  retired ;  on  his  side  full  of  doubt 
and  amazement,  yet  lifted  by  the  other's  appeal 
to  a  higher  level  of  will  and  purpose.  Confidence 
begets  honour.  Frankly  as  he  had  gone  to  the 
Girondin  with  his  confession,  so  frankly  had  the 
other  received  it.  Now  he  felt  that  it  behoved 
him  to  deserve  confidence.  Henceforth  Claire  must 
be  his  sister.  But  he  knew  that  merely  to  call 
her  sister  was  not  all.  He  knew  enough  of  his 
own  weakness  to  recognize  the  necessity  of  shun- 
ning temptation,  and  during  the  next  three  days 
he  was  careful  to  avoid  conversation  with  the 
girl ;  who  on  her  part  seemed  to  observe  nothing, 
but  went  to  and  fro  about  her  household  duties. 

And  yet  she  did  not  go  about  them  as  usual,  a 
keen  observer  would  have  said.  A  subtle  change 
had  come  over  her.  Alone  in  her  room  she  sang 
to  herself  low  crooning  songs  of  happiness.  Her 
eyes,  so  carefully  lowered  in  the  parlour,  shone 
with  a  tender  brightness,  when  no  one  saw  them. 
Her  cheek  had  grown  fuller,  her  colour  stronger, 
her  whole  being  radiant.  If  she  still  went  deli- 
cately when  other's  eyes  were  upon  her,  it  was 
rather  in  sympathy  with  the  heavy  air  of  fear 
and  expectation  which  pervaded  the  house,  which 
pervaded  the  city,  than  in  obedience  to  her  nat- 
ural impulses. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE    321 

On  the  third  evening,  M.  Mirande,  who  had  been 
abroad  all  day,  came  home  rather  later  than 
usual.  The  Vicomte  and  Claire  were  sitting  in 
separate  rooms,  but  something  ominous  in  the 
sound  of  his  footstep  as  he  mounted  the  stairs, 
drew  them  both  to  the  lobby  to  receive  him.  The 
evening  light,  shining  through  the  window  be- 
hind them,  fell  full  upon  his  face  and  exaggerated 
its  cold  and  grey  severity.  They  waited  for  him 
in  silence,  and  he  did  not  see  them  until  he  set  his 
foot  on  the  last  step.  Then  he  pointed  to  his 
room,  and,  "Go  in  there,  my  children,"  he  said 
gravely. 

The  young  man  started.  The  girl  blushed  and 
trembled.  They  both  obeyed.  M.  Mirande's  next 
act  was  equally  surprising.  Following  them  into 
the  room  he  proceeded  to  lock  and  bolt  the  door 
behind  him ;  and  then  passing  quickly  to  the  win- 
dow he  looked  out.  For  a  moment  they  stood 
behind  him  in  silence.  After  a  pause  the  Vicomte 
spoke. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said. 

"The  order  for  my  arrest  was  signed  an  hour 
ago,"  the  Girondin  answered,  his  eyes  still  glued 
to  the  window.  "You  are  both  included  in  it. 
Ah  !  here  they  are ! " 

"Who?"  the  Vicomte  asked  with  energy. 

"Baudouin   and   three   officers.    However,   the 
door  is  shut.    It  is  strong,  and  will  gain  us  a 
few  minutes." 
21 


322  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"To  what  end?"  The  Vicomte  spoke  coldly. 
Mirande's  conduct  took  him  by  surprise,  for  re- 
sistance to  arrest  was  rare  during  the  Revolution. 
Such  men  as  Mirande,  courageous,  bigoted,  de- 
voted to  an  ideal,  made  a  point — unless  they  re- 
sorted to  suicide— of  submitting  calmly  to  destiny 
and  the  law. 

The  Girondin,  however,  had  decided  otherwise. 
Nor  did  he  seem  to  be  aware  of  his  companion's 
disapproval.  He  did  not  answer,  but  continued 
to  look  out  long  after  the  tramp  of  heavy  foot- 
steps on  the  stairs  had  drawn  his  daughter  to  his 
side.  There  was  a  loud  summons  without,  "In 
the  name  of  the  law ! "  but  the  three  remained 
silent,  standing  close  together,  the  girl's  white, 
scared  face  glimmering  in  the  increasing  darkness 
of  the  room.  The  Vicomte  a  foot  from  her,  could 
almost  hear  the  dull  beating  of  her  heart. 

"Can  nothing  be  done?"  he  muttered. 

"We  can  do  nothing  but  wait  and  be  silent," 
the  Republican  answered  calmly.  "They  know  we 
are  here,  but  if  we  do  not  answer,  they  may  pause 
awhile  before  they  attack  the  door.  And  every 
moment— is  a  moment  gained." 

The  Vicomte  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  acqui- 
esced ;  and  some  minutes  elapsed— minutes  which 
seemed  hours  to  more  than  one  of  the  three — be- 
fore the  locksmith  for  whom  the  Commissary  had 
sent,  assailed  the  door,  and  the  almost  empty 
house  rang  with  the  harsh  >  ounds  of  his  hammer. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE     323 

Crash  !  The  door  was  open  at  last,  letting  into 
the  room  a  flood  of  light,  and  with  the  light 
three  men  who  entered  with  levelled  arms.  The 
foremost,  an  officer  girt  with  a  huge  tricolour 
scarf,  stopped  abruptly,  his  jaw  dropping  ludi- 
crously as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  placid  group  before 
him.  "Citizen  Achille  Mirande?"  he  said  inter- 
rogatively. "Yes?  I  am  empowered  to  arrest 
you  in  the  name  of  the  Committee  of  Safety ;  you, 
your  daughter  also  present  I  think— and  a  guest. 
This  I  presume  is  the  person?" 

"It  is,"  Mirande  answered  quietly.  "Perhaps 
you  will  permit  me  to  show  you  where  my  papers 
are.  They  may  be  needed?" 

"They  will  be  needed,"  the  Commissary  replied, 
re-arranging  his  scarf,  which  had  been  pulled  awry. 
"You  may  certainly  collect  them  under  surveil- 
lance." 

"I  can  saveM.  Mirande  the  trouble,"  remarked  a 
mocking  voice  in  the  background.  "I  think  I  can 
lay  my  hand  on  any  paper  that  may  be  required." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  Baudouin,"  the  Girondin 
answered  placidly.  "I  take  it  that  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  this?" 

There  was  shame  as  well  as  triumph  in  the  secre- 
tary's eyes  as  he  came  forward.  "  You  cannot  say 
I  did  not  warn  you,"  he  said,  avoiding  the  look 
of  scorn  which  Claire — who  stood  by  her  father's 
side,  her  hand  in  his — shot  at  him.  "But  you 
would  go  your  way." 


324  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"And  you,  yours  !"  Mirande  retorted.  "  An  old 
way — Judas's.  But  hark  you,  my  friend !  You 
seem  to  be  prospering  now.  You  have  kicked 
down  the  ladder  by  which  you  have  risen.  Yet  it 
is  in  my  power  to  wound  you.  See  you,  do  you 
know  who  this  is?"  and  he  pointed  to  the  Vicomte 
who,  with  his  arms  folded,  was  gazing  haughtily 
at  the  Commissary  and  his  followers. 

"A  conspirator  against  the  safety  of  the  Re- 
public—that is  all  I  know,"  Baudouin  answered 
sullenly. 

"  Possibly,"  said  Mirande.  " But  not  the  less  for 
that  my  son-in-law!" 

"The  Vicomte  de  Bercy!"  Baudouin  almost 
shouted.  "It  is  false.  I  heard  of  him  but  yester- 
day— at  Nantes." 

"You  heard  wrongly  then!"  Mirande  answered 
with  a  cold  sneer.  "This  is  the  man  whom  you 
met  at  Meaux,  and  of  whom  you  lied  to  me,  say- 
ing—that you  might  divide  him  effectually  from 
my  daughter — that  he  refused  to  surrender  him- 
self to  save  her." 

"It  was  true — what  I  told  you,"  the  secretary 
muttered,  gazing  at  Bercy  with  hatred. 

"It  was  false ! "  cried  the  Girondin  sternly.  "Do 
I  need  evidence?  I  have  it.  Whom  shall  I  be- 
lieve, you,  who  have  betrayed  me  to-day,  or  he 
who  remained  by  my  side  in  danger?" 

"He  could  not  escape,"  Baudouin  said  abruptly. 
His  face  was  pale,  the  perspiration  stood  on  his 


A  DAUGHTEK  OF  THE  GIKONDE     325 

brow.  His  jealous  eyes  glared  askance  at  the 
girl's  face.  Mirande  had  said  rightly.  He  had 
yet  the  power  to  wound  this  traitor. 

"He  did  not  attempt  it,"  the  Girondin answered. 
"And  besides,  I  have  tried  him  as  gold  in  the 
fire!  Look  you  at  this.  Bercy!"  As  the  name 
rang  through  the  room  the  speaker  turned  to 
the  Vicomte  and  took  his  hand,  "My  friend,  I 
have  deceived  you.  My  daughter  did  not  die.  I 
procured  her  pardon  by  the  use  of  such  influence 
as  I  possessed  at  that  time.  But  having  done 
that,  deluded  by  this  villain's  tale,  I  forced  her  to 
renounce  you  and  to  take  her  maiden  name." 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence  in  the  room. 

"She  did  not  die?"  the  young  man  muttered, 
his  eyes  dilating.  Then,  before  an  answer  could 
be  given,  he  plucked  his  hand  from  Mirande's 
grasp  and  seizing  him  by  the  shoulder  shook  him 
to  and  fro. 

"  Where  is  she?"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "  Speak,  man, 
what  have  you  done  with  her?  Where  is  she?" 

"She  is  behind  you." 

Bercy  turned.  Claire  was  behind  him.  "Claire?" 
he  cried.  "Claire?" 

The  girl  stood,  her  eyes  slightly  downcast,  her 
arms  hanging  by  her  sides.  And  then  at  the 
sound  of  the  name  uttered  a  second  time,  she 
looked  up,  her  eyes  swimming  with  love  and  tears. 
"No,  Corinne!"  she  said  simply.  And  then,  in 
a  voice  which  pierced  the  traitor's  bosom  as  with 


326  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

a  sword,  she  continued,  "  Honore,  my  husband  ! 
Forgive  me !  Forgive  me  that  I  distrusted  you  ! 
That  I  disowned  you!" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  he  opened  his  arms  and 
took  her  into  them  and  held  her  there ;  while  the 
father  went  to  the  window — perhaps  to  hide  his 
emotion,  and  the  Commissary  lifted  up  his  hands 
in  admiration  genuine  and  French  of  this  moving 
scene.  As  for  Baudouin,  he  bit  his  nails,  his  face 
white  with  rage. 

He  cursed  the  delay.  He  would  have  cursed  the 
police,  had  he  dared,  and  had  not  the  tricolour 
scarf  awed  him.  "Bah!"  he  exclaimed  at  last  in 
venomous  tones,  "a  fine  piece  of  play-acting,  M. 
Mirande !  And  our  friends  here  have  indulgently 
given  you  time  for  it.  But  it  is  over,  and  the 
sequel  will  be  less  pleasant,  I  fear.  He  laughs 
best  who  laughs  last." 

"That  is  true,"  Mirande  answered  soberly;  and 
for  an  instant  from  his  place  at  the  window,  he 
looked  into  the  room. 

"In  three  days  you  will  sneeze  into  the  sack,  my 
friends,"  Baudouin  continued  with  savage  mock- 
ery, i  ."Your  married  bliss,  M.  le  Vicomte,  will  last 
but  a  short  time,  I  fear.  As  for  mademoiselle, 
Sanson  will  prove  but  a  rough  coiffeur,  I  doubt." 

"Silence !"  the  Girondin  cried ;  and  his  tone  was 
strangely  altered,  his  voice  vibrated  strangely 
through  the  room.  "  Silence,  you  hound  ! "  he  con- 
tinued, turning  from  the  window  and  walking  into 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GIRONDE     327 

the  middle  of  the  chamber,  his  figure  drawn  to 
its  full  height,  his  hand  outstretched.  "Be  still, 
and  tremble  for  your  own  head.  The  warrant 
you  bring  is  signed  by  Maximilien  Robespierre?" 

"The  Incorruptible,"  murmured  the  Commis- 
sary. And  saluted. 

"Corruptible  or  Incorruptible,"  Mirande  re- 
joined,  with  a  sneer,  "he  is  fallen!  He  is  fallen! 
Within  the  last  ten  minutes  he  has  been  arrested 
and  lodged  in  the  Tuileries!" 

"You  rave!"  cried  the  officer.  While  Bercy  and 
Corinne  cast  dazed  glances  about  them,  and  the 
other  men  stared  in  stupid  wonder. 

"I  do  not  rave !"  the  Girondin  answered,  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  room,  the  master  of  the 
situation.  "I  tell  but  the  fact.  Mark  the  three 
lighted  candles  in  yonder  upper  window.  They  are 
a  signal  that  Robespierre  is  arrested.  Go,  if  you 
doubt  me,  and  ask.  Or — you  need  not.  Listen, 
listen  !"  With  a  gesture  of  command,  he  raised  his 
hand,  and  all  stood  silent.  For  an  instant  there 
seemed  equal  silence  in  the  streets  below ;  but  grad- 
ually as  they  listened  there  grew  out  of  this  silence 
a  distant  hollow  murmur,  as  of  a  great  sea  swell- 
ing higher  and  louder  with  each  moment.  The 
face  of  more  than  one  in  the  room  lost  its  colour. 

"  The  Faubourgs  are  rising,"  muttered  the  Com- 
missary uneasily.  "There  is  something  amiss." 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  the  Girondin 
quietly,  "there  is  nothing  amiss,  but  things  are 


328  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

in  a  fair  way  to  be  set  straight.  If  you  will  take 
my  advice  you  will  tear  up  that  warrant,  my 
friend.  To-morrow  it  will  be  more  dangerous  to 
you  than  to  me.  The  Terror  of  these  days  is 
over,"  he  continued  solemnly.  "For  those  who 
have  profited  by  it  the  reckoning  remains!" 

M.  Mirande  was  right.  Abruptly  as  this  narra- 
tion ends,  the  Terror,  so  famous  in  history,  came 
to  its  end;  and  many  a  life  held  worthless  a  few 
minutes  before  was  saved.  For  twenty-four  hours 
indeed  the  fate  of  Eobespierre  and  indirectly  of 
our  friends  hung  in  the  balance,  all  men  trembling 
and  watching  what  would  happen  and  who  would 
prevail.  Then  he  fell,  and  the  cruelty  of  his  rule 
recoiled  on  his  associates.  What  became  of  Bau- 
douin  is  not  known  for  certain,  though  one  tale 
alleges  that  he  was  met  and  murdered  by  a  com- 
pany of  Royalists  near  Nantes,  and  another,  that 
he  was  guillotined  under  another  name  with  Fou- 
quier  Tinville  and  his  gang.  Enough  that  he  dis- 
appeared unmarked  and  unregretted,  along  with 
many  others  of  the  baser  and  more  obscure  ad- 
venturers of  the  time. 

Of  Bercy  and  Corinne,  re- wedded  under  circum- 
stances so  strange  and  so  abnormal,  we  know 
only  that  their  descendants,  well  versed  in  this 
tradition  of  the  family,  still  flourish  on  the  Loire, 
and  often  and  often  tell  this  tale  under  the  wal- 
nut-trees on  summer  evenings.  Nor  are  there 
wanting  to-day  both  a  Corinne  and  a  Claire. 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW! 

ON  the  moorland  above  the  old  grey  village  of 
Carhaix,  in  Finistere — Finistere,  the  most  westerly 
province  of  Brittany— stands  a  cottage,  built,  as 
all  the  cottages  in  that  country  are,  of  rough- 
hewn  stones.  It  is  a  poor,  rude  place  to-day,  but 
it  wore  an  aspect  still  more  rude  and  primitive  a 
hundred  years  ago — on  an  August  day  in  the  year 
1793,  when  a  man  issued  from  the  low  doorway, 
and,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  noonday  sun, 
gazed  long  and  fixedly  in  the  direction  of  a  nar- 
row rift  which  a  few  score  paces  away  breaks  the 
monotony  of  the  upland  level.  The  man  was  tall 
and  thin  and  unkempt,  and  his  features,  which 
expressed  a  mixture  of  cunning  and  simplicity, 
matched  his  figure.  He  gazed  a  while  in  silence, 
but  at  length  he  uttered  a  grunt  of  satisfaction 
as  the  figure  of  a  woman  rose  gradually  into 
sight.  She  came  slowly  towards  him  in  a  stoop- 
ing posture,  dragging  behind  her  a  great  load  of 
straw,  which  completely  hid  the  little  sledge  on 
which  it  rested,  and  which  was  attached  to  her 
waist  by  a  rope  of  twisted  hay. 

The  figure  of  a  woman— rather  of  a  girl.  As 
she  drew  nearer  it  could  be  seen  that  her  cheeks, 


330  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

though  brown  and  sunburned,  were  as  smooth  as 
a  child's.  She  seemed  to  be  still  in  her  teens.  Her 
head  was  bare,  and  her  short  petticoats,  of  some 
coarse  stuff,  left  visible  bare  feet  thrust  into 
wooden  shoes.  She  advanced  with  her  head  bent, 
and  her  shoulders  strained  forward,  her  face  dull 
and  patient.  Once,  and  once  only,  when  the  man's 
eyes  left  her  for  a  moment,  she  shot  at  him  a 
look  of  scared  apprehension ;  and  later,  when  she 
came  abreast  of  him,  her  breath  coming  and  going 
with  her  exertions,  he  might  have  seen,  had  he 
looked  closely,  that  her  strong  brown  limbs  were 
trembling  under  her. 

But  the  man  noticed  nothing  in  his  impatience, 
and  only  chid  her  for  her  slowness.  "Where  have 
you  been  dawdling,  lazy-bones?"  he  cried. 

She  murmured,  without  halting,  that  the  sun 
was  hot. 

"Sun  hot !"  he  retorted.  "Jeanne  is  lazy,  that 
is  it !  Mon  Dieu,  that  I  should  have  married  a 
wife  who  is  tired  by  noon  !  I  had  better  have  left 
you  to  that  never-do-well  Pierre  Bounat.  But  I 
have  news  for  you,  my  girl." 

He  lounged  after  her  as  he  spoke,  his  low  cun- 
ning face — the  face  of  the  worst  kind  of  French 
peasant — nickering  with  cruel  pleasure,  as  he  saw 
how  she  winced  at  the  name  he  had  mentioned. 
She  made  him  no  answer,  however.  Instead,  she 
drew  her  load  with  increased  vehemence  towards 
one  of  the  two  doors  which  led  into  the  build- 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW         331 

ing.  "Well,  well,  I  will  tell  you  presently," 
he  called  after  her.  "Be  quick  and  come  to  din- 
ner." 

He  entered  himself  by  the  other  door.  The 
house  was  divided  into  two  chambers  by  a  breast- 
high  partition  of  wood.  The  one  room  served  for 
kitchen;  the  other,  now  half  full  of  straw,  was 
barn  and  granary,  fowl-house  and  dove-cote,  all 
in  one.  "Be  quick!"  he  called  to  her.  Standing 
in  the  house-room,  he  could  see  her  head  as  she 
proceeded  to  unload  the  straw. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  came  in,  her  shoes  clat- 
tering on  the  floor.  The  perspiration  stood  in 
great  beads  on  her  forehead,  and  showed  how 
little  she  had  deserved  his  reproach.  She  took  her 
seat  silently,  avoiding  his  eyes  with  some  care ;  but 
he  thought  nothing  of  this.  It  wras  no  new  thing. 
It  pleased  him,  if  anything. 

He  liked  to  be  feared.  "Well,  my  Jeanne,"  he 
said,  in  his  gibing  tone,  "are  you  longing  for  my 
news?" 

The  hand  she  extended  towards  the  pitcher  of 
cider,  that,  with  black  bread  and  onions,  made  up 
their  meal,  shook  a  little;  but  she  answered  simply, 
"If  you  please,  Michel." 

"Well,  the  Girondins  have  got  the  worst  of  it, 
my  girl,  and  are  flying  all  over  the  country. 
That  is  the  news.  Your  Pierre  is  among  them,  I 
don't  doubt,  if  he  has  not  been  killed  already.  I 
wish  he  would  come  this  way." 


332  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Why?"  she  asked;  and  as  she  spoke  looked  up 
at  last,  a  flash  of  light  in  her  grey  eyes. 

"Why?"  he  repeated,  grinning  across  the  table 
at  her,  "because  he  would  be  worth  five  crowns 
to  me.  There  is  five  crowns,  I  am  told,  on  the 
head  of  every  Girondin  who  has  been  in  arms,  my 
girl.  Five  crowns !  It  is  not  every  day  we  can 
earn  five  crowns!" 

The  French  Revolution,  it  will  be  understood, 
was  at  its  height.  The  more  moderate  and  con- 
stitutional Republicans— the  Girondins,  as  they 
were  called — worsted  in  Paris  by  the  Jacobins  and 
the  mob,  had  lately  tried  to  raise  the  provinces 
against  the  capital,  and  to  this  end  had  drawn 
together  at  Caen,  near  the  border  of  Brittany. 
They  had  been  defeated,  however,  and  the  Jaco- 
bins, in  this  month  of  August,  were  preparing  to 
take  a  fearful  vengeance  at  once  on  them  and  on 
the  Royalists.  The  Reign  of  Terror  had  begun. 
Even  to  such  a  boor  as  this,  sitting  over  his 
black  bread,  in  his  remote  hovel,  the  Revolution 
had  come  home,  and,  in  common  with  many 
a  thousand  others,  he  wondered  what  he  could 
make  of  it. 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  even  by  the  look  of  con- 
tempt to  which  he  had  become  accustomed,  and 
for  which  he  hated  her,  and  for  which  he  beat  her ; 
and  he  repeated,  "Five  crowns !  Ah,  it  is  money, 
that  is !  Mon  Dieu!"  Then,  with  a  sudden  excla- 
mation, he  sprang  up.  "What  is  that?"  he  cried. 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW    333 

He  had  been  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  barn, 
but  he  turned,  as  he  spoke,  so  as  to  face  it. 
Something  had  startled  him — a  movement,  a  rus- 
tling in  the  straw  behind  him.  "What  is  that?" 
he  asked  again,  his  hand  on  the  table,  his  face 
lowering  and  watchful. 

The  girl  had  risen  also;  and,  as  the  last  word 
passed  his  lips,  sprang  by  him  with  a  low  cry, 
and  aimed  a  frantic  blow  with  her  stool  at  some- 
thing he  could  not  see,  something  low,  on  the 
floor. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  recoiling. 

"A  rat!"  she  answered,  breathless.  And  she 
aimed  another  blow  at  it. 

"Where?"  he  asked  sharply.  "Where  is  it?" 
He  snatched  up  his  stool,  too,  and  at  that  mo- 
ment a  rat  darted  out  of  the  straw,  ran  nimbly 
between  his  legs,  and  plunged  into  a  hole  by  the 
door.  He  flung  the  wooden  stool  after  it ;  but  in 
vain.  "It  was  a  rat!"  he  said,  as  if  until  then 
he  had  doubted  it. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  she  muttered.  She  was  shaking 
all  over. 

He  stared  at  her  in  stupid  wonder.  What  did 
she  mean?  What  had  come  to  her?  "Have  you 
had  a  sunstroke  my,  girl?"  he  said  suspiciously. 

Her  nut-brown  face  was  a  shade  less  brown 
than  usual,  but  she  met  his  eyes  boldly.  "No," 
she  said,  "I  am  all  right."  And  she  added  an  ex- 
planation that  for  the  moment  satisfied  him.  But 


334  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

he  did  not  sit  down  again,  and  when  she  went 
out  he  went  out  also.  And  though,  as  she  re- 
tired slowly  to  the  rye  fields  and  her  work,  she 
repeatedly  looked  back  at  him,  it  was  always  to 
find  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her.  When  this  had  hap- 
pened half  a  dozen  times,  a  thought  struck  him. 
"How  now?"  he  muttered.  "The  rat  ran  out  of 
the  straw!  Why?" 

Nevertheless  he  continued  to  gaze  after  her, 
with  a  cunning  look  upon  his  features,  until  she 
disappeared  over  the  edge  of  the  rift.  Then  he 
crept  back  to  the  door  of  the  barn,  and  stole  in, 
exchanging  the  sunlight  for  the  cool  darkness  of 
the  raftered  building,  across  which  a  dozen  rays 
of  light  were  shooting,  laden  with  dancing  motes. 
A  pace  or  two  from  the  door  he  stood  stock  still 
until  he  had  regained  the  use  of  his  eyes;  then 
he  began  to  peer  round  him.  In  a  moment,  far 
sooner  than  he  expected,  he  found  what  he  sought. 
Half  upon,  and  half  hidden  by,  the  straw  in  the 
furthest  corner,  lay  a  young  man,  in  the  deep 
sleep  of  utter  exhaustion.  His  face,  which  bore 
traces  of  more  than  common  beauty,  was  white 
and  pinched;  his  hair  hung  dank  about  his  fore- 
head. His  clothes  were  in  rags;  and  his  feet, 
bound  up  with  pieces  torn  at  random  from  his 
blouse,  were  raw  and  bleeding.  For  a  short 
time  Michel  Tellier  bent  over  him,  noting  these 
things  with  glistening  eyes.  Then  the  peasant 
stole  out  again.  "It  is  five  crowns!"  he  mut- 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW         335 

tered,  blinking  in  the  sunlight.     ''Ha,  ha!    Five 
crowns!" 

He  looked  round  him  cautiously,  but  could  see 
no  sign  of  his  wife ;  and  after  hesitating  and  pon- 
dering a  minute  or  two,  he  took  the  path  for  Car- 
haix,  his  native  astuteness  leading  him  to  saunter 
at  a  slow  pace  after  his  ordinary  fashion.  When 
he  was  gone  the  moorland  about  the  cottage  lay 
still  and  deserted.  Thrice,  at  intervals,  the  girl 
dragged  home  her  load  of  straw,  but  on  each  oc- 
casion she  seemed  to  linger  in  the  barn  no  longer 
than  was  necessary.  Michel's  absence,  though  it 
was  unlooked-for,  raised  no  suspicion  in  her  breast, 
for  he  would  frequently  go  down  to  the  village  to 
spend  the  afternoon.  The  sun  sank  lower,  and 
the  shadow  of  the  great  monolith,  which,  on  the 
crest  of  the  highest  point  of  the  moor,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  a  mile,  rose  gaunt  and  black  against  a 
roseate  sky,  grew  longer  and  longer ;  and  then,  as 
twilight  fell,  the  two  coming  home  met  a  few  paces 
from  the  cottage.  He  asked  so  me  questions  about 
the  work  she  had  been  doing,  and  she  answered 
briefly.  Then,  silent  and  uncommunicative,  they 
went  in  together.  The  girl  set  the  bread  and 
cider  on  the  table,  and  going  to  the  great  black 
pot  which  had  been  simmering  all  day  upon  the 
fire,  poured  some  broth  into  two  pitchers.  It  did 
not  escape  Michel's  frugal  eye  that  she  was  care- 
ful to  leave  a  little  broth  in  the  bottom  of  the 
pot;  and  the  fact  induced  a  new  feeling  in  him — 


336  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

anger.  When  his  wife  invited  him  by  a  sign  to 
the  meal,  he  went  instead  to  the  door,  and  fas- 
tened it.  Then  he  moved  to  the  corner  and  picked 
up  the  wood-chopper,  and  armed  with  this  he 
came  back  to  his  seat. 

The  girl  watched  his  movements  first  with  sur- 
prise, then  with  secret  terror.  The  twilight  was 
come,  the  cottage  was  almost  dark,  and  she  was 
alone  with  him ;  or,  if  not  alone,  yet  with  no  one 
near  who  could  help  her.  Nevertheless  she  met 
his  grin  of  triumph  bravely.  "What  is  this?" 
she  said.  "Why  do  you  want  that?" 

"For  the  rat,"  he  answered  grimly,  his  eyes  on 
hers. 

Her  heart  sank.    "The  rat?"  she  echoed. 

"Ay!" 

"Why  not — your  stool?"  she  strove  to  murmur. 

"Not  for  this  rat,"  he  answered  cunningly. 
"It  might  not  do,  my  girl.  Oh,  I  know  what  is 
to  do,"  he  continued,  fingering  the  edge  of  the 
axe.  "I  have  been  down  to  the  village,  and  seen 
the  mayor,  and  he  is  coming  up  to  fetch  him." 
He  nodded  towards  the  partition,  and  she  knew 
that  her  secret  was  known. 

"It  is  Pierre,"  she  said,  trembling  violently, 
and  turning  first  crimson  and  then  a  dull  sal- 
low hue. 

"I  know  it,  Jeanne.  It  was  excellent  of  you! 
Excellent !  It  is  long  since  you  have  done  such  a 
day's  work." 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW         337 

"You  will  not  give  him  up?"  she  gasped. 

"My  faith,  I  shall !"  he  answered,  affecting,  and 
perhaps  really  feeling,  wonder  at  her  simplicity. 
"He  is  five  crowns,  my  girl!  You  do  not  under- 
stand. He  is  worth  five  crowns  and  the  risk  noth- 
ing at  all." 

If  he  had  been  angry,  if  he  had  shown  anything 
of  the  fury  of  the  suspicious  husband,  if  he  had 
been  about  to  do  this  out  of  jealousy  or  revenge 
or  passion  she  would  have  quailed  before  him, 
though  she  had  done  him  no  wrong,  save  the 
wrong  of  mercy  and  pity.  But  his  spirit  was  too 
mean  for  the  great  passions ;  he  felt  only  the  mean 
and  sordid  impulses,  which  to  a  woman  are  the 
most  hateful.  And  instead  of  quailing,  she  looked 
at  him  with  flashing  eyes.  "I  shall  warn  him," 
she  said. 

"It  will  not  help  him,"  he  answered,  sitting 
still,  and  feeling  anew  the  edge  of  the  hatchet 
with  his  fingers. 

"It  will  help  him,"  she  retorted.  "He  shall  go. 
He  shall  escape  before  they  come."  She  rose  im- 
petuously from  her  seat. 

"I  have  locked  the  door!" 

"Give  me  the  key!"  she  panted.  "Give  me  the 
key,  I  say  !"  She  stood  before  him,  her  trembling 
hands  outstretched,  her  figure  drawn  to  its  full 
height.  Her  look  was  such  that  he  rose  and  re- 
treated behind  the  table,  still  retaining  the  hatchet 

in  his  grasp. 
22 


338  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"Stand  back!"  he  said  sullenly.  " You  may 
awaken  him,  if  you  please,  my  girl.  It  will  not 
avail  him.  Do  you  not  understand,  fool,  that  he 
is  worth  five  crowns?  Five  crowns?  And  listen  I 
It  is  too  late  now.  They  are  here ! " 

A  blow  fell  on  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  he 
stepped  towards  it.  But  at  that,  seeing  the  last 
chance  leaving  her,  despair  moved  her,  she  threw 
herself  upon  him ;  for  a  moment  she  wrestled  with 
him  like  a  wild-cat,  but  in  the  end  he  prevailed; 
he  flung  her  off,  and,  brandishing  his  weapon  in 
her  face,  kept  her  at  bay.  "You  vixen  !"  he  cried, 
retreating  to  the  door,  with  a  pale  cheek  and  his 
eyes  still  on  her,  for  he  was  an  arrant  coward. 
"You  deserve  to  go  to  prison  with  him,  you  jade ! 
I  will  have  you  in  the  stocks  for  this !  I'll  have 
you  jailed !" 

She  leaned  against  the  wall  where  he  had  flung 
her,  her  white  despairing  face  seeming  to  shine  in 
the  darkness  of  the  wretched  room.  Meanwhile 
the  continuous  murmur  of  men's  voices  outside 
the  door  could  be  heard  mingled  with  the  clatter 
of  weapons;  the  summons  for  admission  was  re- 
peated, and  again  repeated,  as  if  those  without 
had  no  mind  to  be  kept  waiting  long. 

"  Patience !  patience !  I  am  opening  ! "  he  cried. 
Still  keeping  his  face  to  her,  he  unlocked  the  door 
and  called  on  the  men  to  enter.  "He  is  in  the 
straw,  M.  le  Maire !"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  triumph, 
his  eyes  still  on  his  wife.  "Cursed  Girondin  !  He 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW         339 

will  give  you  no  trouble,  I  will  answer  it !  But 
first  give  me  my  five  crowns,  M.  le  Maire.  My 
five  crowns!" 

He  felt,  craven  as  he  was,  so  much  fear  of  his 
wife  that  he  did  not  turn  to  see  the  men  enter, 
and  he  was  taken  by  surprise  when  a  voice  at  his 
elbow — a  voice  he  did  not  know — answered,  "Five 
crowns,  my  friend?  For  what,  may  I  ask?" 

In  his  eagerness  and  greed  he  suspected  nothing, 
but  that  on  some  pretext  or  other  they  were  try- 
ing to  filch  from  him  his  dues.  "For  what?  For 
the  Girondin  ! "  he  answered  rapidly.  Then  at  last 
he  did  turn  and  found  that  half  a  dozen  men  had 
entered,  that  more  were  entering.  But  to  his 
astonishment,  they  were  all  strangers — men  with 
stern,  gloomy  faces,  and  armed  to  the  teeth. 
There  was  something  so  formidable,  indeed,  in 
their  appearance  that  he  stepped  back,  and  his 
voice  faltered  as  he  added:  "But  where  is  the 
mayor,  gentlemen?  I  do  not  see  him." 

No  one  answered,  but  in  silence  the  last  of  the 
men— they  were  eleven  in  all — entered  and  bolted 
the  door  behind  him.  Michel  Tellier  peered  at 
them  in  the  gloom  with  growing  alarm,  nay,  with 
growing  terror.  In  return  the  tallest  of  the  stran- 
gers, he  who  had  entered  first  and  seemed  to  com- 
mand the  others,  looked  round  him  keenly.  And 
it  was  he  who  at  length  broke  the  silence.  "So 
you  have  a  Girondin  here,  have  you?"  he  said, 
his  voice  curiously  sweet  and  sonorous. 


340  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"I  was  to  have  live  crowns  for  him/'  Michel 
muttered  dubiously. 

"Oh  !"  and  then,  "Petion,"  the  spokesman  con- 
tinued to  one  of  his  companions,  "can  you  kindle 
a  light?  It  strikes  me  that  we  have  hit  upon  a 
dark  place." 

The  man  addressed  took  something  from  his 
pouch.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  sharp  sound  of  the  flint  striking  the 
steel.  Then  a  slow-growing  glare  lit  up  the  dark 
interior,  and  disclosed  the  group  of  cloaked  stran- 
gers standing  about  the  door,  the  light  gleaming1 
back  from  their  trailing  sabres  and  great  horse, 
pistols.  Michel  trembled.  He  had  never  seen  such 
men  as  these.  True,  they  were  wet  and  travel- 
stained,  and  had  the  air  of  those  who  spend  their 
nights  in  ditches  and  under  haystacks.  But  their 
pale,  stern  faces  were  set  in  indomitable  resolve. 
Their  eyes  glowed  with  a  steady  fire,  and  they  trod 
the  mud  floor  as  kings  tread.  Their  leader  was 
a  man  of  majestic  height  and  stern  beauty,  and 
in  his  eyes  alone  there  seemed  to  lurk  a  spark  of 
lighter  fire,  as  if  his  spirit  still  rose  above  the  task 
which  had  sobered  his  companions.  Michel  noted 
all  this  in  fear  and  bewilderment ;  noted  the  white 
head  yet  the  vigorous  bearing  of  the  man  who  had 
struck  the  light ;  noted  even  the  manner  in  which 
the  light  died  away  in  the  dim  recesses  of  the  barn. 

"And  this  Girondin— is  he  in  hiding  here?"  the 
tall  man  asked. 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW         341 

"That  is  so,"  Michel  answered.  "But  I  had 
nothing  to  do  with  hiding  him,  citizen.  It  was  my 
wife  hid  him  in  the  straw  there." 

"And  you  gave  notice  of  his  presence  to  the 
authorities?"  the  stranger  continued,  raising  his 
hand  to  repress  some  movement  among  his  fol- 
lowers. 

"Certainly,  or  you  would  not  be  here,"  replied 
Michel,  better  satisfied  with  himself. 

The  answer  struck  him,  prostrated  him.  with  an 
awful  terror.  ' "  That  does  not  follow, ' '  the  tall  man 
rejoined  coolly,  "for  we,  we,  also,  are  Girondins !" 

"You  are?    You?" 

"Without  doubt,"  the  other  answered,  with 
majestic  simplicity ;  "or  there  are  no  such  persons. 
This  is  Petion  of  Paris,  and  this  citizen  Buzot. 
Have  you  heard  of  Louvet?  There  he  stands. 
For  me,  I  am  Barbaroux." 

Michel's  tongue  remained  glued  to  the  roof  of  his 
mouth.  He  could  not  utter  a  word.  But  another 
could.  On  the  far  side  of  the  barrier  a  rustling 
was  heard,  and  while  all  turned  to  look — but  with 
what  different  feelings — the  pale  face  of  the  youth 
over  whom  Michel  had  bent  in  the  afternoon  ap- 
peared above  the  partition.  A  smile  of  joyful 
recognition  effaced  for  the  time  the  lines  of  ex- 
haustion. The  young  man,  clinging  for  support 
to  the  planks,  uttered  a  cry  of  thankfulness.  "It 
is  you  !  It  is  really  you !  You  are  safe ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. Love  beamed  in  his  eyes. 


342  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

"We  are  safe,  all  of  us,  Pierre,"  Barbaroux 
answered.  "And  now"— he  turned  to  Michel  Tel- 
lier  with  thunder  in  his  voice — "know  that  this 
man  whom  you  would  have  betrayed  is  our  guide, 
whom  we  lost  last  night.  Speak,  then,  in  your 
defence,  if  you  can.  Say  what  you  have  to  say 
why  justice  should  not  be  done  upon  you,  miser- 
able caitiff,  who  would  have  sold  a  man's  life,  as 
you  would  sell  a  sheep's,  for  a  few  pieces  of  silver ! " 

The  wretched  peasant's  knees  trembled  under 
him;  the  perspiration  stood  upon  his  brow.  He 
heard  the  voice  as  the  voice  of  a  judge  or  an  exe- 
cuti  ner.  He  looked  in  the  stern  eyes  of  the 
Girondins,  and  read  only  anger,  doom,  vengeance. 
Then  he  caught  in  the  silence  the  sound  of  his  wife 
weeping,  for  at  Pierre's  appearance  she  had  broken 
into  wild  sobbing;  and  on  that  he  spoke  out  of 
the  base  instincts  of  his  heart.  "He  was  her 
lover,"  he  muttered.  "I  swear  it,  citizens." 

"  He  lies  !"  the  man  at  the  barrier  cried,  his  face 
transfigured  with  rage.  "I  loved  her  once,  it  is 
true,  but  it  was  before  her  old  father  sold  her  to 
this  Judas.  For  what  he  would  have  you  believe 
now,  my  friends,  it  is  false.  I,  too,  swear  it." 

A  murmur  of  execration  broke  from  the  group  of 
Girondins.  Barbaroux  repressed  it  by  a  gesture. 
"What  do  you  say  of  this  man?"  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  them,  his  tone  deep  and  solemn. 

"  He  is  not  fit  to  live !"  they  answered  with  one 
voice. 


IN  THE  NAME  OP  THE  LAW    343 

The  poor  coward  screamed  as  he  heard  the 
words,  and,  flinging  himself  on  the  ground,  he 
embraced  Barbaroux's  knees  in  a  paroxysm  of 
terror.  But  the  judge  did  not  look  at  him.  Bar- 
baroux  turned,  instead,  to  Pierre  Bounat.  "  What 
do  you  say  of  him?"  he  asked. 

"He  is  not  fit  to  live,"  the  young  man  answered 
solemnly,  his  breath  coming  quick  and  fast. 

"And  you?"  Barbaroux  continued,  turning  and 
looking  with  eyes  of  fire  at  the  wife.  And  his  voice 
was  still  more  solemn. 

A  moment  before  she  had  ceased  to  weep,  and 
had  stood  up  listening  and  gazing,  awe  and  won- 
der in  her  face.  Barbaroux  had  to  repeat  his 
question  before  she  answered.  Then  she  said, 
"He  is  not  fit  to  die." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  broken  only  by 
the  entreaties,  the  prayers,  of  the  wretch  on  the 
floor.  At  last  Barbaroux  spoke.  "She  has  said 
rightly,"  he  pronounced.  "He  shall  live.  They 
have  put  us  out  of  the  law  and  set  a  price  on  our 
heads;  but  we  will  keep  the  law.  He  shall  live. 
Yet,  hark  you,"  the  great  orator  continued,  in 
tones  which  Michel  never  forgot,  "if  a  whisper 
escape  you  as  to  our  presence  here,  or  as  to  our 
names,  or  if  you  wrong  your  wife  from  this  time 
forth  by  word  or  deed,  the  life  she  has  saved  shall 
pay  for  it. 

"  Remember !"  he  added,  shaking  Michel  to  and 
fro  with  a  finger,  "the  arm  of  Barbaroux  of 


344  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

Marseilles  is  long,  and  though  I  be  a  hundred 
leagues  away,  I  shall  know  and  I  shall  punish. 
So,  beware!  Now  rise,  and  live!" 

The  miserable  man  cowered  back  to  the  wall, 
frightened  to  the  core  of  his  heart.  The  Girondins 
conferred  a  while  in  whispers,  two  of  their  number 
assisting  Pierre  to  cross  the  barrier.  Suddenly  on 
their  talk  there  broke — and  Michel  trembled  anew 
as  he  heard  it — a  loud  knocking  at  the  door.  All 
started  and  stood  listening  and  waiting.  A  voice 
cried  :  "  Open  !  open  !  in  the  name  of  the  law !" 

"We  have  lingered  too  long,"  Barbaroux  mut- 
tered. "I  should  have  thought  of  this.  It  is  the 
Mayor  of  Carhaix  come  to  apprehend  our  friend." 

Again  the  Girondins  conferred  together.  At 
last,  seeming  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion,  they 
ranged  themselves  on  either  side  of  the  door,  and 
one  of  their  number  opened  it.  A  short,  stout 
man,  girt  with  a  tricolour  sash,  and  wearing  a 
huge  sword,  entered  with  an  air  of  authority. 
Blinded  by  the  gush  of  light  he  saw,  at  his  first 
entrance,  nothing  out  of  the  common;  he  was 
followed  by  four  men  armed  with  muskets. 

Their  appearance  produced  an  extraordinary 
effect  on  Michel  Tellier.  As  they  crossed  the 
threshold  one  by  one,  the  peasant  leaned  forward, 
his  face  flushed,  his  eyes  gleaming ;  and  he  counted 
them.  They  were  only  five.  And  the  others  were 
twelve.  He  fell  back,  and  from  that  moment  his 
belief  in  the  Girondins'  power  was  clinched. 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW         345 

"In  the  name  of  the  law!"  the  mayor  panted. 
He  was  a  little  out  of  breath.  "Why  did  you 

not "  Then  he  stopped  abruptly,  his  mouth 

remaining  open.  He  found  himself  surrounded  by 
a  group  of  grim,  silent  mutes,  with  arms  in  their 
hands ;  and  in  a  twinkling  it  flashed  into  his  mind 
that  these  were  the  eleven  chiefs  of  the  Girondins, 
whom  he  had  been  warned  to  keep  watch  for,  and 
to  take.  He  had  come  to  catch  a  pigeon  and  had 
caught  a  crow.  He  turned  pale  and  his  eyes 
dropped.  "Who  are — who  are  these  gentlemen?" 
he  stammered,  in  a  tone  suddenly  and  ludicrously 
fallen. 

"Some  volunteers  of  Quimper,  returning  home," 
replied  Barbaroux,  with  ironical  smoothness. 

"You  have  your  papers,  citizens?"  the  mayor 
asked,  mechanically;  and  he  took  a  step  back- 
wards towards  the  door,  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Here  they  are !"  said  Petion  rudely,  thrusting 
a  packet  into  his  hands.  "They  are  in  order." 

The  mayor  took  them,  and  longing  only  to  see 
the  outside  of  the  door,  pretended  to  look  through 
them,  his  little  heart  going  pit-a-pat  within  him. 
"They  seem  to  be  in  order,"  he  assented,  feebly. 
"I  need  not  trouble  you  further,  citizens.  I  came 
here  under  a  misapprehension,  I  find,  and  I  wish 
you  a  good  journey." 

He  knew,  as  he  backed  out,  that  he  was  cutting 
a  poor  figure.  And  he  would  fain  have  made  a 


346  IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

more  dignified  retreat.  But  before  these  men, 
fugitives  and  outlaws  as  they  were,  he  felt,  though 
he  was  Mayor  of  Carhaix,  almost  as  small  a  man 
as  did  Michel  Tellier.  These  were  the  men  of  the 
Kevolution,  nay,  they  were  the  Revolution.  They 
had  bearded  Capet,  they  had  shattered  the  regime 
of  centuries,  they  had  pulled  down  kings.  There 
was  Barbaroux,  who  had  grappled  with  Marat; 
and  Petion,  the  Mayor  of  the  Bastille.  The  little 
Mayor  of  Carhaix  knew  greatness  when  he  saw  it. 
He  turned  tail,  and  hurried  back  to  his  fireside, 
his  body-guard  not  a  whit  behind  him  in  their 
desire  to  be  gone. 

Five  minutes  later  the  men  he  feared  and  envied 
came  out  also,  and  went  their  way,  passing  in 
single  file  into  the  darkness  which  brooded  over 
the  great  monolith;  beginning,  brave  hearts,  an- 
other of  the  few  stages  which  still  lay  between 
them  and  the  guillotine.  Then  in  the  cottage  there 
remained  only  Michel  and  Jeanne.  She  sat  by  the 
dying  embers,  silent,  and  lost  in  thought.  He 
leaned  against  the  wall,  his  eyes  roving  ceaselessly, 
but  always  when  his  gaze  met  hers  it  fell.  Bar- 
baroux had  conquered  him.  It  was  not  until 
Jeanne  had  risen  to  close  the  door,  and  he  was 
alone,  that  he  wrung  his  hands,  and  muttered : 
"  Five  crowns !  Five  crowns  gone  and  wasted  ! " 

THE    END 


UNDER    THE    RED    ROBE, 

A    ROMANCE. 
BY   STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  woL»,"«re 


With   1  2  Pull-page  Illustrations  by  R.  Caton  Woodvllle. 
1  2mo,  Linen  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  Mr.  Weyman  is  a  brave  writer,  who  imagines  fine  things  and  describes  them 
Splendidly.  There  is  something  to  interest  a  healthy  mind  on  every  page  of  his  new 
.-story.  Its  interest  never  flags,  for  his  resource  is  rich,  and  it  is,  moreover,  the  kind  of 
®  story  that  one  cannot  plainly  see  the  end  of  from  Chapter  I.  ...  the  story  reveals 
•»  knowledge  of  French  character  and  French  landscape  that  was  surely  never  ac- 
'Uired  at  second  hand.  The  beginning  is  wonderfully  interesting." — NEW  YORK  TIMES. 

"  As  perfect  a  novel  of  the  new  school  of  fiction  as  '  Ivanhoe  '  or  '  Henry  Esmond  ' 
j<?as  of  theirs.  Each  later  story  has  shown  a  marked  advance  in  strength  and  treat- 
ment, and  in  the  last  Mr.  Weyman  .  .  .  demonstrates  that  he  has  no  superior 
among  living  novelists.  .  .  .  There  are  but  two  characters  in  the  story — his  art 
makes  all  other  but  unnoticed  shadows  cast  by  them — and  the  attention  is  so  keenly 
fixed  upon  one  or  both,  from  the  first  word  to  the  last,  that  we  live  in  their  thoughts 
and  see  the  drama  unfolded  through  their  eyes." — N.  Y.  WORLD.  ^ 

"  It  was  bold  to  take  Richelieu  and  his  time  as  a  subject  and  thus  to  challenge  com- 
parison with  Dumas's  immortal  musketeers;  but  the  result  justifies  the  boldness.  .  .  . 
The  plot  is  admirably  clear  and  strong,  the  diction  singularly  concise  and  telling,  and 
the  stirring  events  are  so  managed  as  not  to  degenerate  into  sensationalism.  Few 
better  novels  of  adventure  than  this  have  ever  been  written." — OUTLOOK,  NEW  YORK. 

"  A  wonderfully  brilliant  and  thrilling  romance.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has  a  positive 
talent  for  concise  dramatic  narration.  Every  phrase  tells,  and  the  characters  stand 
out  with  life-like  distinctness.  Some  of  the  most  fascinating  epochs  in  French  history 
have  been  splendidly  illuminated  by  his  novels,  which  are  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
notable  successes  of  later  nineteenth-century  fiction.  This  story  of'  Under  the  Red 
Robe '  is  in  its  way  one  of  the  very  best  things  he  has  done.  It  is  illustrated  with 
vigor  and  appropriateness  from  twelve  full-page  designs  by  R.  Caton  Woodville." 

—BOSTON  BEACON. 

"  It  is  a  skillfully  drawn  picture  of  the  times,  drawn  in  simple  and  transparent 
English,  and  quivering  with  tense  human  feeling  from  the  first  word  to  the  last.  It  is 
not  a  book  that  can  be  laid  down  at  the  middle  of  it.  The  reader  once  caught  in  its 
whirl  can  no  more  escape  from  it  than  a  ship  from  the  maelstrom." 

— PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"  The  '  red  robe '  refers  to  Cardinal  Richelieu,  in  whose  day  the  story  is  laid, 
The  descriptions  of  his  court,  his  jud'cial  machinations  and  ministrations,  his  partial 
defeat,  stand  out  from  the  book  as  vivid  as  flame  against  a  background  of  snow.  For 
the  rest,  the  book  is  clever  and  interesting,  ana  overflowing  with  heroic  incident. 
Stanley  Weyman  is  an  author  who  has  apparently  come  to  stay." — CHICAGO  POST. 

"  In  this  story  Mr.  Weyman  returns  to  the  scene  of  his  '  Gentleman  of  France,' 
although  his  new  heroes  are  of  different  mould.  The  book  is  full  of  adventure  and 
characterized  by  a  deeper  study  of  character  than  its  predecessor." 

—WASHINGTON  POST. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  quite  topped  his  first  success.  .  .  .  The  author  artfully 
pursues  the  line  on  which  his  happy  initial  venture  was  laid.  We  have  in  Berault,  the 
hero,  a  more  impressive  Marsac  ;  an  accomplished  duelist,  telling  the  tale  of  his  own 
adventures,  he  first  repels  and  finally  attracts  us.  He  is  at  once  the  tool  of  Richelieu, 
and  a  man  of  honor.  Here  is  a  noteworthy  romance,  full  of  thrilling  incident  set  down 
by  a  master-hand." — PHILADELPHIA  PRESS. 


GEEEST.  &  00.,  91-98  HPTH  ATE.,  K3W  YOBS, 


THE  RED  COCKADE. 

A  NOVEL  OF  THE   FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 
BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN, 

IOTHOR  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  UNDER  THE  RED  RO»*5,"  "  THE  HOUSE  Of 
THE  WOLF,"  "  MY  LADY  ROTHA,"  ETC. 


With  48   Illustrations  by  R.  Caton  Woodville.     Crown  8vo. 
Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1  .50. 

*  Deserves  a  place  among  the  bast  historical  fiction  of  the  latter  part  of  this  century. 
.  .  The  gradual  maddening  of  the  people  by  agitators,  the  rising  of  those  who  have  re- 
venges to  feed,  the  burnings  and  the  outrages  are  described  in  a  masterly  way.  The  attack 
?n  the  castle  of  St.  Alais,  the  hideous  death  of  the  steward,  the  looting  of  the  great  building, 
j.nd  the  escape  of  the  young  lovers  —  these  incidents  are  told  in  that  breathless  way  which 
Veyman  has  made  familiar  in  other  stories.  It  is  only  when  one  has  finished  the  book  and 
das  gone  back  to  reread  certain  passages  that  the  dramatic  power  and  the  sustained  passion 
of  these  scenes  are  clearly  felt."  —  SAN  FRANCISCO  CHRONICLE. 

"  'The  Red  Cockade,'  a  story  of  the  French  Revolution,  shows,  in  the  first  place,  care- 
ful study  and  deliberate,  well-directed  effort  Mr.  Weyman  .  .  .  has  caught  the  spirit 
sf  the  times.  .  .  .  The  book  is  brimful  of  romantic  incidents.  It  absorbs  one's  interest 
from  the  first  page  to  the  last;  it  depicts  human  character  with  truth,  and  it  causes  the  good 
snd  brave  to  triumph.  In  a  word,  it  is  real  romance."  —  SYRACUSE  POST. 

'"  We  have  in  this  novel  a  powerful  but  not  an  exaggerated  study  of  the  spirit  of  the  high 
born  and  the  low  born  which  centuries  of  aristocratic  tyranny  and  democratic  suffering  en- 
gendered  in  France.  It  is  history  which  we  read  here,  and  not  romance,  but  history  which 
is  so  perfectly  written,  so  veritable,  that  it  blends  with  the  romantic  associations  in  which  it 
is  set  as  naturally  as  the  history  in  Shakespeare's  plays  blends  with  the  poetry  which  vital- 
izes and  glorifies  it."  —  MAIL  AND  EXPRESS,  NEW  YORK. 

"  It  will  be  scarcely  more  than  its  due  to  say  that  this  will  always  rank  among  Weyman's 
'best  work.  In  the  troublous  times  of  1789  in  France  its  action  is  laid,  and  with  marvellous 
skill  the  author  has  delineated  the  most  striking  types  of  men  and  women  who  made  the  Rev- 
olution so  terrible."  —  NEW  YORK  WORLD. 

"  *  The  Red  Cockade  '  is  a  novel  of  events,  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
'•Miy  and  full  of  stirring  romance.  The  tragic  period  of  the  French  Revolution  forms  a  frame 
sn  which  to  set  the  adventures  of  Adrien  du  Pont,  Vicomte  de  Saux,  and  the  part  he  plays 
m  those  days  of  peril  has  a  full  measure  of  dramatic  interest.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has 
evidently  studied  the  history  of  the  revolution  with  a  profound  realization  of  its  intense 
a-agedy."  —  DETROIT  FREE  PRESS. 


ery  1  -----------------  _.  . 

background  is  made  vivid  and  convincing  —  the  frenzy  caused  by  the  fall  of  the  Bastile,  the 


Ban  do." — BOSTON  BEACON. 

"The  story  gives  a  view  of  the  times  which  is  apart  from  the  usual,  and  marked  with  a 
Sae  study  of  history  and  of  human  conditions  and  impulse  on  Mr.  Weyman  s  part.  Regard- 
ing his  varied  and  well-chosen  characters  one  cares  only  to  say  that  they  are  full  of  interest 
and  admirably  portrayed.  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  stones  of  the  hour,  and  one 
*ff  tae  most  delightfully  freighted  with  suggestion."— CHICAGO  INTERIOR. 

« With  so  striking  a  character  for  his  hero,  it  is  not  wonderful  _  that  Mr.  Weyman  has 
fcrohred  a  story  that  for  ingenuity  of  plot  and  felicity  of  treatment  is  equal  to  some  of  his 
%est  efforts.  .  .  .  'The  Red  Cockade '  is  one  of  the  unmistakably  strong  historical  ro, 
nances  of  the  season. " — BOSTON  HERALD. 

"We  are  greatly  mistaken  if  the  '  Red  Cockade'  does  not  take  rank  wi*h  tt*  rag 
S*«t  book  that  Mr.  Weyman  has  written." — SCOTSMAN. 

fc  00..  pi. 93  riFTE  AVE.,  NEW  YOKK 


SOPHIA 


BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 

AUTHOR  OF  "  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE,"  ETC. 


With  12  Illustrations  by  C.  Hammond.    Crown  8vo,  cloth, 
ornamental,  $1.50. 


"  Mr.  Weyman's  new  romance  illustrates  the  types  and  manners  of  fashion- 
able London  society  in  the  year  1742.  In  everything  that  means  the  revival  of 
an  historical  atmosphere  it  is  skilful,  and,  on  the  whole,  just.  The  characters 
also  are  well  realized.  .  .  .  '  Sophia '  is  a  decidedly  interesting  novel.  .  .  . 
The  tale  moves  swiftly,  hurrying  on  from  the  town  to  the  heath,  from  hatred  to 
love,  from  imprisonment  on  bread  and  water  to  diamonds  .  .  .  and  a  dozen 
otherthings.  Sophia,  the  heroine,  is  a  bundle  of  girlish  foolishness  and  charms. 
'Sophia,'  the  book,  is  a  bundle  of  more  or  less  extraordinary  episodes  woven 
into  a  story  in  the  most  beguiling  manner." — NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE,  April,  1900. 

"  It  is  a  good,  lively,  melodramatic  story  of  love  and  adventure  .  .  .  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  nobody  who  reads  the  lively  episode  in  the  first  chapter  will 
leave  the  book  unfinished,  because  there  is  not  a  moment's  break  in  the  swift 
and  dramatic  narrative  until  the  last  page.  .  .  .  The  dramatic  sequence  is 
nearly  faultless."— TRIBUNE,  CHICAGO. 

»'  Sophia,  with  her  mistakes,  her  adventures,  and  her  final  surrender;  Sophia 
moving  among  the  eighteenth  century  world  of  fashion  at  Vauxhall;  Sophia  fly- 
ing through  the  country  roads,  pursued  by  an  adventurer,  and  Sophia  captured 
by  her  husband,  transport  one  so  far  from  this  work-a-day  life  that  the  reader 
comes  back  surprised  to  find  that  this  prosaic  world  is  still  here  after  that  too- 
brief  excursion  into  the  realm  of  fancy." 

—NEW  YORK  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER. 

"The  gem  of  the  book  is  its  description  of  the  long  coach-ride  made  by 
Sophia  to  Sir  Hervey's  home  in  Sussex,  the  attempt  made  by  highwaymen  to 
rob  her,  and  her  adventures  at  the  paved  ford  and  in  the  house  made  silent  by 
smallpox,  where  she  took  refuge.  This  section  of  the  story  is  almost  as  breath- 
less as  Smollett.  ...  In  the  general  firmness  of  touch,  and  sureness  of 
historic  portrayal,  the  book  deserves  high  praise."— BUFFALO  EXPRESS. 

" '  Sophia '  contains,  in  its  earlier  part,  a  series  of  incidents  that  is,  we  believe, 
the  most  ingenious  yet  planned  by  its  author.  .  .  .  The  adventure  develops 
and  grows,  the  tension  increases  with  each  page,  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
hackneyed  adjective,  '  breathless,'  finds  an  appropriate  place." 

—NEW  YORK  MAIL  AND  EXPRESS. 

" '  Sophia,'  his  latest,  is  also  one  of  his  best.  A  delightful  spirit  of  adventure 
hangs  about  the  story;  something  interesting  happens  in  every  chapter.  The 
admirable  ease  of  style,  the  smooth  and  natural  dialogue,  the  perfect  adjust- 
ment of  events  and  sequences  conceal  all  the  usual  obtrusive  mechanism,  and 
hold  the  curiosity  of  the  reader  throughout  the  development  of  an  excellent  plot 
and  genuine  people."— PUBLIC  LEDGER,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

"Those  who  read  Mr.  Stanley  J.  Weyman's  'Castle  Inn'  with  delight,  will 
find  in  his  '  Sophia  '  an  equally  brilliant  performance,  in  which  they  are  intro- 
duced to  another  part  of  the  Georgian  era.  .  .  .  Mr.  Wey man  knows  the 
eighteenth  century  from  top  to  bottom,  and  could  any  time  be  more  suitable 
for  the  writer  of  romance  ?  .  .  .  There  is  only  one  way  to  define  the  subtle 
charm  and  distinction  of  this  book,  and  that  is  to  say  that  it  deserves  a  place  on 
the  book -shelf  beside  those  dainty  volumes  in  which  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  has  em- 
balmed the  very  spirit  of  the  period  of  the  hoop  and  the  patch,  the  coffee-house, 
and  the  sedan  chair.  And  could  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman  ask  for  better  company 
for  his  books  than  that  ?  "—EVENING  SUN,  NEW  YORK. 

"  Contains  what  is  probably  the  most  ingenious  and  exciting  situation  even 
he  has  ever  invented.*— BOOK  BUYER,  NEW  YORK. 


LONGMANS,  GBEEN.  &  00.,  91-83  PIPTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


THE    CASTLE    INN, 

A   ROMANCE. 

BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE,*' 
"  SHREWSBURY,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


With  «ix  full-page  Illustrations  by  Walter  Appleton  Clark. 
Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1 .50. 


'•n.  vole  which  is  full  of  old-world  romance  and  adventure.  It  has  a  strong  flavoi 
of  the  under  life  in  England  when  George  the  Third  was  young,  when  sign-posts 
served  also  as  gibbets,  when  travel  was  by  coach  and  highwaymen  were  many,  when 
men  drank  deep  and  played  high.  There  are  plenty  of  stirring  scenes  along  the  way, 
plenty  of  treachery  and  fighting  at  cross-purposes  which  lead  to  intricate  and  dramatic 
situations.  The  heroine's  charms  recall  Mile,  de  Cochefpret  in  '  Under  the  Red  Robe,' 
and  she  proves  herself  a  iraid  of  spirit  through  all  the  mishaps  which  befall  her.  One 
of  the  most  notable  things  about  '  The  Castle  Inn  '  is  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Weyman 
has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  manages  to  imbue  his  readers  with  its  feeling." 

— DETROIT  FREE  PRESS. 

"  .  .  .  .  In  'The  Castle  Inn,' this  master  of  romance  tells  a  story  of  the  time 
of  George  HI.  in  the  third  person.  ...  A  story  of  rapid  action,  with  a  swinging 
succession  of  moving  incidents  that  keep  the  reader  incessantly  on  the  quivive.  It 
deals  with  human  emotions  with  directness  and  thoughtfulness." 

—THE  PRESS,  PHILA.,  PA. 

"  .  .  .  '  The  Castle  Inn  '  ...  is  so  fresh  and  entertaining  that  it  takes  one 
back  to  'A  Gentleman  of  France,'  and  other  good  things  this  author  did  several  years 
ago.  Mr.  Weyman,  in  looking  about  for  an  appropriate  setting  for  his  romance,  very 
wisely  eschews  scenes  and  people  of  to-day,  and  chooses,  instead,  England  a  hundred 
and  thirty  years  ago,  when  George  III.  was  on  her  throne,  and  living  was  a  far  more 
picturesque  business  than  it  is  now.  Beautiful  maidens  could  be  kidnapped  then; 
daring  lovers  faced  pistols  and  swords  in  behalf  of  their  sweethearts,  and  altogether 
the  pace  was  a  lively  one.  Mr.  Weyman  knows  how  to  use  the  attractive  colorings  to 
the  best  advantage  possible."— CHICAGO  EVENING  POST. 

"...  a  piece  of  work  which  is  infinitely  better  than  anything  else  which  he 
has  accomplished.  He  has  treated  the  eighteenth  century,  the  time  of  the  elder  Pitt, 
with  a  grasp  and  a  sympathy  that  presage  a  greater  reputation  for  this  novelist  than 
he  has  enjoyed  hitherto.  The  story  itself  is  worth  the  telling,  but  the  great  thing  is 
the  way  it  is  told." — NEW  YORK  SUN. 

"...  he  has  a  firm  grasp  of  his  period  in  this  book,  and  revives  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  last  century  in  England,  with  its  shallow  graces  and  profound  brutality, 
coherently  and  even  with  eloquence  .  .  .  it  is  a  most  interesting  story,  which 
should  please  the  reader  of  romantic  tastes  and  sustain  the  author's  reputation." 

—NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"The  characters  in  the  book  are  all  entertaining,  and  many  of  them  are  droll, 
while  a  few,  like  the  conscientious  Mr.  Fishwick,  the  attorney,  and  the  cringing 
parasite.  Mr.  Thomasson,  are,  in  their  own  way,  masterpieces  of  character  study. 
Take  it  all  in  all,  '  The  Castle  Inn  '  is  in  many  ways  the  best  work  which  has  yet  come 
from  Mr.  Weyman's  pen." — COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER,  NEW  YORK. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  surpassed  himself  in  '  The  Castle  Inn.'  From  coyer  to  cover 
the  book  teems  with  adventure  and  romance,  and  the  love  episode  is  delicious.  Julia 
will  live  as  one  of  the  most  graceful  heroines  in  the  literature  of  pur  time.  .  .  . 
We  get  an  excellent  idea  of  the  doings  of  fashionable  society  in  the  time  when  George 
III.  was  young,  and  altogether  the  volume  can  be  heartily  recommended  as  the  besi, 
thing  that  Weyman  has  done,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  one,  at  least,  the  most  fascinating 
book  of  the  season." — HOME  JOURNAL,  NEW  YORK. 


LONGMANS,  GBEEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  PEFTH  AVE,  NEW  TOBK. 


COUNT  HANNIBAL 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  COURT  OF  FRANCE 

BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 

AUTHOR  OK  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  ROBK," 
"THE  CASTLE  INN,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $  1  .50 

"It  is  very  seldom  that  one  runs  across  a  historical  novel  the  plot  of  which  is 
so  ably  sustained,  the  characters  so  strongly  drawn,  the  local  color  or  atmosphere 
so  satisfactory.  .  .  .  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  the  strongest  and  most  interest- 
ing novel  as  yet  written  by  this  popular  author." — BOSTON  TIMES. 

"  Stanley  J.  Weyman  has  had  hundreds  of  imitators  since  he  wrote  '  A  Gen- 
tleman of  France,'  but  no  man  has  yet  surpassed  him.  I  know  of  no  book  in 
the  whole  list  of  popular  favorites  that  holds  one's  interest  more  intensely  or 
more  continuously  than  '  Count  Hannibal '  does.  And  what  an  insistent,  throat- 
gripping  interest  it  is ! 

What  is  the  use  of  hoping  for  a  decadence  of  the  craze  for  historical 
romances  so  long  as  the  public  is  fed  on  books  like  this  ?  Such  a  story  has  zest 
for  the  most  jaded  palate  ;  nay,  it  can  hold  the  interest  even  of  a  book  reviewer. 
From  the  first  page  to  the  last  there  is  not  a  moment  when  one's  desire  to  finish 
the  book  weakens.  Along  with  the  ordinary  interest  of  curiosity  there  goes  that 
of  a  delightful  and  unique  love  story  involving  no  little  skill  in  character  deline- 
ation." — RECORD- HERALD,  CHICAGO. 

"  A  spirited,  tersely  interesting  and  most  vivid  story  of  scenes  and  incidents 
and  portrayals  of  various  characters  that  lived  and  fought  and  bled  in  the  lurid 
days  that  saw  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  .  .  .  This  is  Mr.  Weyman's 
most  graphic  and  realistic  novel. " — PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  surpassed  himself  in  'Count  Hannibal.'  The  scene  of 
the  story  is  laid  chiefly  in  Paris,  at  the  time  of  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. .  .  .  We  are  made  to  grasp  the  soul  of  Count  Hannibal  and  are  tacitly 
asked  to  let  its  envelope  take  care  of  itself.  .  .  .  Never  has  Mr.  Weyman 
achieved,  in  fact,  a  higher  degree  of  verisimilitude.  Count  Hannibal  may  leave 
us  breathless  with  his  despotic  methods,  but  he  is  not  abnormal ;  he  is  one  of  the 
Frenchmen  who  shared  the  temper  which  made  the  St.  Bartholomew,  and  he  is  in- 
tensely human  too  .  .  .  how  the  tangle  of  events  in  which  he  and  half  a 
dozen  others  are  involved  is  straightened  out  we  refrain  from  disclosing.  The 
reader  who  once  takes  up  this  book  will  want  to  find  all  this  out  for  himself  " 

— NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"A  story  in  Mr.  Weyman's  best  vein,  with  the  crimson  horror  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew as  an  historical  setting.  •  Count  Hannibal  '  is  a  worthy  companion  of 
'  A  Gentleman  of  France'  and  '  The  Red  Cockade,'  and  Mr.  Weyman's  hand  is 
as  cunning  as  ever  in  fashioning  a  romance  which  will  send  a  thrill  through  the 
most  jaded  reader  and  keep  even  a  reviewer  from  his  bed." 

—BOOKMAN,  LONDON. 

"  The  book  is  rapid,  is  absorbing,  and  the  hero  is  a  distinctly  interesting 
character  in  himself,  apart  from  his  deeds  of  daring. " — ATHRN.*UM. 

"  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman's  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  fully  worthy  of  his  great  repu- 
tation— the  style  is  brilliant,  easy  and  clear ;  the  invention  of  subject  and  the 
turns  of  fortune  in  the  story  surprising  ;  above  all,  the  subtle  painting  of  a  man 
and  a  woman's  heart  is  done  with  inexhaustible  knowledge." — GUARDIAN. 

"  A  picturesque  and  vigorous  romance.  The  narrative  will  be  followed  with 
breathless  interest. "— TIMES,  LONDON. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00,,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK. 


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